The Labyrinth of his Mind
by The Mad Old THAImer
Summary: Suffering from amnesia, it locks away a majority of his past's happiness and he is left with sorrow. Finally, after years of suffering, will someone finally make his memories come together? Or will they remain fragmented and forgotten? Contains references from other musicals. Mostly Kay plot-wise, also some Webber and Leroux. AU.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 _31 October 1854_

The cold autumn air raged across Rouen's countryside. Madeleine Mulheim could have cared less. She trudged home, feeling dazed, lost, and hurt. Another day in the town square, seeking desperately for her husband. Charles Mulheim has been declared missing for nearly 4 months now. Her grief for Charles was almost overwhelming.

And the child growing in her womb wasn't helping.

In fact, Madeleine dreaded this… being… growing within her. Although they had not been married at the time, Charles and Madeleine had… done the deed, shortly after Valentine's Day. It was dreadfully obvious by her third month that something had happened between the two, they had adamantly denied ever doing such. Rumors started flying around the town. Rumors of fornication, of prostitution, floated around her. Of Madeleine Bouchard being a common whore, despite her upper class status. Of sin that she carries within her.

And out of the blue, Charles had proposed to her. Perhaps he had done so to save himself from insults being thrown to him. Perhaps he felt pity for the woman he fell in love with. At the age of 19, Madeleine had the charms that every man in France would fall to. With deep, sea-blue eyes that anyone can stare into and be lost within its depths; luscious, wavy blond hair that framed her face quite nicely; a curvaceous body that men swoon for; and possessing large amounts of money, tempting to all but the poorest and most unfortunate of men. Yet with her chest rapidly expanding since her affair, all of her advantages left. Madeleine quickly accepted his proposal.

Hardly two months into their wedding, and Charles was called in to perform an evaluation and reconstruction of the Pontmercy chateau in Paris. Known as one of the best masons in France, and the request was written directly from Baron Marius Pontmercy, a war hero during the revolution only four years before, Charles simply couldn't refuse.

" _Say you'll return to me, to my life, my lifetime…"_

"I promise, Madeleine."

Those were Charles' last words to Madeleine. Over two months passed, and Madeleine finally received word of his… _disappearance_ … at the worksite.

"You promised me, Charles, you promised," she wept on that day, reading the newspaper detailing the crumbling foundation at the estate.

For without Charles, there was no real reason for Madeleine to continue living in this facade. She had found other men, who could potentially replace him. Despite this, the only thing standing in her way between release from Charles and being bound to Charles was…the child. And even then, Madeleine wanted nothing to do with… it. For it was created out of wedlock. It had very little meaning to her. Oh, how Madeleine pined to move on with her life! Yet, she clung onto the hopes that Charles would eventually return to her, in time for the child.

Oh, the child, the child! How many times she tried to get herself rid of it! Starvation, poison, even intentional injuries, although excruciating to her, did nothing to the child within. How she wanted to get rid of… this _demon_ inside her so much! Surely if this was any child, it would be dead by now! No midwife, or doctor for any matter, wanted any hand in it. The child was already too far along to go back.

And so, Madeleine cursed under her breath as the sun steadily descended across the horizon. Cursing the pain in her chest, the coldness of the wind, the distance her house was from the other houses.

"Hannah! Open up this instant!" she screeched as she approached her front door. The maid instantly opened the door to gaze upon the changed woman. Gone was the bright innocence of her eyes. Her hair no longer possessed its former sheen; rather, it had turned a dirty blond. Her mouth, in the past which said nothing but sweetness, was now trembling and muttering curses left and right.

"What took you so long?" she snapped. Hannah bowed down and ushered Madeleine into the living room.

"Sorry, Madame, but I was busy cleaning the kitchen…"

"Never mind the kitchen! God knows what you've been cooking for me!" Madeleine reached for the nearest chair and raised it over her head with surprising speed and force. Hannah instinctively cowered.

"So…so… sorry Madame…" she stuttered. Seeing Hannah on the ground seemed to only anger Madeleine further.

"Sorry? SORRY?! Seriously girl, I didn't hire you to be a whipping post, did I?! Now, GO! Clean the chamber pot of its contents! Clean the…" Madeleine paused, and groaned in pain, dropping the chair in the process. Hannah, sensing the change in tone, immediately rose and rushed to her side.

"Ma…Madame! Are you alright? Wha…what shall I go fetch you?"

"Nothing! Leave me be!" she steadily lowered herself onto the couch. Glancing down to where she was standing, she noticed a puddle of murky blood.

Her water had broken.

"Get the local midwife! I think… I think _it_ is finally coming out!"

Hannah didn't need to be told twice. She rushed to the local elderly midwife, and, to be on the safe side, Saint Erik Sauveterre, the local priest. Fortunately, by the time she had arrived back at the Mulheim residence, Madeleine had not yet given birth. Seeing Madeleine on the couch in utter agony, the midwife immediately assumed her role.

"Now, Madame, push. You're just beginning to dilate."

"Please… get this… _agony…_ over with already!" Madeleine certainly was growing to dislike this child every minute.

"Madame, I see… the head! Continue pushing!"

"Why must I continue pushing though?" Madeleine was getting quite tired, as expected.

"So you won't die, of course."

All throughout the ordeal Hannah and Saint Erik stood nearby, watching Madeleine scream and moan in pain. While Hannah was heavily tempted to approach Madame and ask for her needs, Saint Erik looked at the sinned woman with disgust in his eyes.

So many rumors and sightings were heard all throughout town. How the child was created outside of marriage. Of how she attempted witchcraft and gypsy poisons to get rid of the child. _Certainly, something was wrong with the woman_ , he thought. _I wouldn't be surprised if the poor child is actually alive by the end of the night_. He knelt down besides Madeleine in prayer, hoping the child will turn out alright and safe.

"One more push, Madame!"

And then the midwife gasped. Instead of cupping the child and announcing its gender, she… dropped the child in horror as she let out a scream as the child began to cry. " _Demon! Madame, that's what you've given birth to!"_

Saint Erik looked up, startled to see Madeleine fainting. He looked at the midwife, who ran out of Madeleine's house, screaming "Demon! Demon! I am forever sinned! Never shall I enter or work for her again!" And finally, while afraid to do so, he glanced down at the crying child on the stained carpet. He inhaled sharply.

Lying in the middle of the blood was a young boy. Surprisingly, he was still alive after falling about a foot off. His body, for the most part, looked relatively normal. His face, however… was a different story. His hair, which was dark brown, did little to ease the horror. For the young lad had no nose; stead, a gaping hole with tissue underneath existed in place of the nose. His eyes were rather sunken into the eye-sockets… his face overall looked gaunt, and his cheekbones sharply protruded outwards. At places the skin seemed to be at excess; other places the skin seemed all too thin. In fact, as far as Saint Erik could see, there was a small section of his face that did not possess any skin at all. Furthermore, each cheek was heavily distorted, as though someone had attempted to stir cement while it was drying. The lips were unbelievably thin, almost to the point of nonexistence.

Feeling pity for the young child, knowing that this face was the result of a mother's hate of her past, he cautiously picked the young child up. Instantly, the child had stopped crying. _His cry wasn't that bad_ , he thought. _It sounded rather heavenly. Almost like an angel's…_ The child opened its eyes. Immediately, Saint Erik noticed that the child's eyes… were unlike any other. For instead of possessing Madeleine's sea-blue eyes or Charles' emerald-green eyes, this child had (what he presumed to be) amber eyes, with just a speck of Charles' eyes visible. The child looked up at the priest wonderingly, and reached up his little hand, finding it on the priest's cheek.

"There, there, little one", the priest crooned, as Hannah cautiously approached the child, a look of pity on her face. "You know why he was born like this, no?"

Hannah slowly nodded her head. "Yes, gypsy poison and frequent attempts to kill the poor child physically…"

The child began to squirm, as Madeleine slowly regained consciousness. "Where's my child?" She looked around frantically for the midwife, and not seeing her, finally looked at the priest and the maid, who had their backs onto her. "Oh lord! Saint Erik, Hannah, where is my child?"

Saint Erik was shocked. Hannah visibly paled. For neither wanted to present the poor child to Madeleine. "Well, Madeleine…" he slowly turned around. The child was now facing Madeleine, with a look of wonder in the child's eyes. Madeleine looked at the poor child for a moment, and began to scream.

"No! I did not give birth to that thing! I did not! I did not! I did NOT…!" she was now sitting up, shaking her head while continuing to deny the child's existence. Finally, after a moment, she looked up at the priest. "Kill him."

"I shall not."

"Then I shall do it myself!" She got up, even though it pained her to do so, and began her stride towards the kitchen.

"No, Madame, you mustn't!" Hannah rushed to Madeleine's side and forced her back on the couch.

"Why should I not?! This… _thing_ is a demon! I refuse to mother a demon!"

"But you shall," the priest responded quietly. "For it is because of _you_ that the poor child is born this way. Surely you would've known the consequences of _poison_ on a child, no?" Madeleine flinched. "For distorting this child's face… his future, you shall raise him. You shall not harm him in any way. For if you do…" he paused. Madeleine took this opportunity to counterstrike.

"What will you do?" she sneered. "What deed have I done that will taint me in this town, to God? And I have no name for this demon, you name him yourself!"

"I shall tell the world of your sin… of fornication." Madeleine again flinched. "And how you attempted to kill the child in many ways before it even took a breath," he looked down at the child again. "His name shall be Erik then," he muttered quietly. "Erik Mulheim". With this, the child stopped looking at Madeleine and looked up at the priest, with wonder still plastered on his eyes. He handed little Erik to Hannah, who proceeded to care for him in the bathroom.

"Mark my words, Madeleine. I shall be checking back every week to see if the child is alright," he paused, and then continued, "If not, I'll see that you are forever damned for your sins".

With that, he left the household, with Madeleine paralyzed in shock and fear.


	2. Ch 1: The Boy in the Cage

**Chapter 1: The Boy in the Cage**

 _21 December 1863_

"Gustave! Gustave! Please listen to me!"

Gustave Daaé looked up from his paper. Antoinette Giry was standing in front of him, with a bewildered look in her eyes, panting heavily. Clearly something was wrong. "What's wrong, Annie? Why don't you have a seat?" He motioned her to sit in the chair across from his desk.

Antoinette stopped breathing for a moment and sat down. She was beginning to doubt whether or not Gustave would feel any sympathy to what she had to tell him. _Surely, he will help, can he not,_ she thought to herself. _After all, I did save him from the life he was living years ago, and the only reason he's in the Sûreté now is because of my insistence… and his wife is another indirect plus._

Both Antoinette and Gustave knew what had happened in 1839, when Gustave had just immigrated to France from Sweden. Oh, how Antoinette, newly appointed ballet instructor of the Opéra-Comique, had found Gustave nearing death, playing in the streets with his violin! It was not his physical condition that had touched Antoinette however; it was the haunting melody that he played. He had so much potential, all to be wasted without care! With her parents' consent, Antoinette had nursed Gustave to full health, and proceeded to help him with his career. Not only did she convince the managers of the Opéra-Comique to hire him, but also indirect;y (because of Gustave's insistence of protecting the community) found him employment with the Gendarmerie due to his growing physical strength over the years. In return, Antoinette often came to Gustave for emotional support, whether it was about her husband, daily matters, or any criminal activity. Their trust had blossomed to one of brotherly-sisterly love.

"Well, you see, Gustave," she began; pausing to make sure Gustave was indeed listening to him. He had a tendency to lose interest quickly; Antoinette was surprised that this time, he was all ears. "I was going to a traveling fair that stopped at Paris. It will be staying here for the next week," she stopped and thought. "I think they may be gypsies," she added feebly.

"Go on, Antoinette."

"Well, there was this one… attraction, as I want to say, and it contained… a child. No more than 10 years of age. He was not wearing anything, save for a ragged pair of trousers and a sack on his head". She shivered, knowing that the current temperatures are not exactly suitable to be wearing so little clothing. "He was chained to the cage that confined him, and because of his clothing I could see… I could see…" tears formed on Antoinette's face, her entire body shaking uncontrollably at the thought of the child's body. Gustave got up and reached to comfort Antoinette. She quickly grabbed his chest and began to cry into his shirt.

"There, there, Annie," he said, attempting to use his words to soothe and calm her. "Surely it couldn't have been that bad."

Antoinette released Gustave and pushed him away, looking at him in horror. "Not bad! No, it was a terrible sight to see! For his body… was covered in numerous cuts and scars! Every inch of it! Some looked fresh, as if only yesterday the scars were planted! The child was shivering, huddling in a corner, away from the bars! But the gypsies in charge of him didn't care! They dragged him from the corner and began beating him with a whip! A leather whip, Gustave! The child began to cry out, _Vă rugăm să milă!_ But the gypsy didn't care. I think he was pleading for mercy, for the gypsy replied ' _Nimeni dar demonul va arăta vreodată milă pentru tine'!_ "

Gustave didn't know what to say. He was already feeling pity for the young boy. But one thing was preventing him from wanting to help the child "Surely, he was there for a reason. Possibly he hurt them in some way and that is his repayment…"

Antoinette looked horror-stricken. She slapped him. "Mon dieu, no! You haven't even let me finish! The child's attraction was called _Le Mort Vivant_. To us, the gypsy said, 'Come! Come see the Living Corpse! Come see the horrors that only hell can spawn!' And then, as the child was crying from the new cuts he attained from the whip, the gypsy grabbed him by the neck and removed the sack! Oh Gustave, it was horrible! The poor child didn't have a face at all! It was so distorted, so grotesque! So much like… a death's head! And no one showed sympathy to the poor child; in fact, many in the crowd actually threw anything they could lay their hands on, including pointed objects, at him, all while jeering insulting names! I wanted to do something to help the child! And then, while continuing to whip the child, he said ' _Sing, mic cadavru_!' And the child couldn't do anything else, but do as he was told! His voice was perfect, almost like an angel's!"

"Really?" Gustave was not impressed. Anyone can claim that, yet few could actually do it. And even then, their voices would always remain earthbound.

"I've never heard anything better," Antoinette replied firmly. "In fact, all in the audience were silent. Everyone temporarily forgot his face even existed. And then, when his song ended, the violence began… all over again." She stopped to dry her tears on her handkerchief. "Please, Gustave, do something about this! This is surely a crime against humanity!"

"What about the other officers? Surely they would do something about this."

"That's the problem, Gustave Daaé!" Gustave withdrew, for Antoinette rarely used his last name unless she was serious. "Every other officer in this city has already seen the child, yet not one wants to help! All they do is jeer at him and lash out insults…"

There was a long pause as Gustave and Antoinette gazed into each other's eyes.

"I will have to talk to Hannah about this," Gustave began, breaking the minutes of silence.

"Surely she'll understand?" Antoinette asked anxiously.

"Hannah is already pregnant. I must ask for her opinion first before I do any other action. She has always been my source of comfort."

Antoinette understood why Gustave could assume that he was going to be the man taking care of this child. Being a ballet instructor only provided her the most basic salary; with her husband dead from an accidental shooting, and a child within months to be born, Antoinette simply wasn't prepared for another mouth to feed. Gustave, on the other hand, had two jobs that provided him steady income. His life was finally falling to place, as Hannah was fast approaching birth as well.

"I'm sure of it, Annie. Well, I'm off to talk to Hannah now. Good day."

* * *

Reviews and comments are welcomed.


	3. Ch 2: Nine Years

**Chapter 2: Nine Years**

 _21 December 1863_

It was late afternoon when Gustave finally returned home to Hannah. He paused, wondering how he would break it to his wife. He had always known that his wife possessed a kind heart, and certainly had a less-than fortunate history. Will she be able to accept the child? Or reject him, just like the rest of the world.

"Good day, Gustave. How was your day today?" the sweet voice in Swedish drifted from the living room. Gustave closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.

"I would like to talk to you, Hannah."

"Sure, why though?" Hannah stepped out from the living room and bade him in. Both sat down on the couch.

Another deep breath. "Antoinette just mentioned today about a young boy, maybe 10 years of age, trapped and abused by gypsies near Paris. Apparently he has a facial deformity, although he also possesses manmade wounds."

 _No… it can't be… surely not…_

"He also has what Antoinette describes as an angelic voice."

Hannah collapsed, head rolled to the side. "Hannah? Hannah!" Gustave got up and quickly tended to his wife. _This child… she has not seen it before, has she not? Perhaps I should not have brought the child up at all. Maybe he is fine where he belongs_. Gustave mentally slapped himself. _Ugh, how could I say such things! This child is in pain, probably unnecessary pain, all because of his face! But my own wife can't stomach just a description of him._

 _And what about my child? How will he or she react to the face?_ Gustave shook himself. _No, my child will not know any better. Children are not born scared. They are made scared._ After a few minutes of Gustave rubbing her head and hands, Hannah was finally starting to stir.

Her eyes flickered open. "Oh Gustave," she moaned.

"Yes, Hannah?"

"Just your description of this boy brings back memories."

"What memories?"

"From my time as a maid. It's been nine years."

"Really? What about this boy takes you back that far?"

"Perhaps I should start from the beginning as a newly hired maid. I was hired by Madeleine Mulheim, a rich woman who had recently lost her husband. Although I always thought that their marriage was to save their reputations. They might have loved each other in the past, but by the time I was employed, Madeleine did not want her child any longer. It was a painful… chain, as you might say, to her past." Gustave looked at her.

"This child that Madame Mulheim was carrying… surely it is not…?"

Hannah nodded her head. "She tried everything to get rid of it. Poison from gypsies being the most alarming she consumed." Gustave paled considerably. _How could a mother do this to her child?_

"That's not all though. The child was then born deformed. I was there along with the local priest." Tears began to form around her eyes. "She refused to name the child. The priest decided to name the child Erik. He then threatened Madame, said that if the child was hurt in any way, he would personally make her sins publicly known."

Gustave pulled her into a close embrace. "I'm sorry you had to bear the sight of him," he said softly.

"What? No!" Hannah pushed him away. "It was not like that! That face held no horror for me. It did at the start, but really, everything else about him was completely normal. For the first three years, Madeleine didn't lay a finger on little Erik. No interaction whatsoever. Yet little Erik was a bright child. He could walk before he was one, and could talk and hum way before! His works, although childish visually, was beautiful…"

"Works?"

"His songs, his music, his drawings. A genius, is he not? Composing and designing before he has even reached schooling age!" Hannah visibly brightened. Just the thought of this child made her proud. "And it was all at my encouragement! But perhaps his most amazing attribute was his voice."

"His voice…"

"Yes, his voice. It sounded just like an angel's. Something about his voice is unearthly. When I sang while doing chores, Erik would sometimes join in with me. Our voices, in one combined… it was beautiful, Gustave."

"So what happened then? Why only the first three years did she leave Erik alone?"

"The priest passed away. He was already elderly by the time of Erik's birth. You know human natures; once danger has passed, humans rise from the ashes." She looked down. "It was as if years of pent up anger was finally unleashed that day. One minute, Erik and I were singing a piece from Charles Gounod's then recently-announced _Faust_ , and the next minute the Madame had knocked me unconscious with a wooden plank!"

Hannah subconsciously rubbed her head. Even after all these years, she could still feel the pains Madeleine brought upon her. "That woman!" Gustave's anger vented out. "I would bring her to justice if not that I have no idea where she lives."

"Don't, Gustave," Hannah sighed. "Besides, my injury was slight in comparison to Erik's."

Gustave paled. "What do you mean?"

"…When I regained consciousness the first time around, I saw Erik crying in a corner. Shards of mirror were lying around him. His hands, his back, his face… all covered with shards of glass. 'Monster,' he whimpered. 'Mother showed me a monster. But no, no longer is it here. No longer shall it harm Erik…' I got up and confronted Madeleine. 'What did you do to the poor child?!' I was hysterical. Erik did not deserve it. Her reply was just as harsh. 'The thing needs to know who it is. How it'll never be loved! That face does not deserve any compassion or pity.' Gustave, I shouldn't have done what I did afterwards, I slapped her! She fired me on the spot." Hannah again broke down into sobs. "I shouldn't have done that! Erik needed me badly! Who knows what that woman has drilled into his head while I was gone! For before I was knocked out, Erik never referred to himself in third person."

Gustave was lost in words. So that was how he had come to find Hannah, alone in the country, wearing a maid's clothes. "You think… this child with the gypsies might be Erik?" he finally managed to let out.

Hannah nodded within his chest. "I'm sure of it. With the Madame's actions and words on the first day, I wouldn't be surprised if Erik had run away. Mon dieu," she gasped, clutching her heart. "What if he was searching for me? I might have subjected him to what the gypsies had done to him? I can never forgive myself…"

"Would it satisfy you if I went to the fair tonight and checked on this boy?"

"No!" this time, Gustave withdrew. Hannah was looking at him with horror splattered on her face.

"No?" he asked incredulously.

"You don't understand me, Gustave! I don't want you to just check on the boy! I want to see if his life is truly as bad as what Antoinette thinks! If so, you shouldn't just stand in the shadows! Be the knight, Gustave! Goodness, be like Baroness Cosette Pontmercy's adoptive father! _Lead him, save him from his solitude… that's all I ask of you_."

Gustave looked at his wife in defeat. "Fine, I'll do so." He stroked his stubble beard. He needed to thank Antoinette later for helping him understand women. Especially Hannah.

Hannah smiled tearfully. "Thank you, Gustave. Now, would you like dinner? It's Soupe à L'oignon today…"

* * *

Tiny reference to "All I Ask of You" by Lloyd Webber, and the mention of Cossette from "Les Misérables". As the original "Les Misérables" was published in 1862, it is reasonable that Hannah mention Valjean here.

Reviews and comments are welcomed.


	4. Ch 3: Pitiful

**Chapter 3: Pitiful**

 _21 December 1863_

"Come see the Living Corpse!"

Erik shuddered. The cold air didn't bother him as much as it did before, but it would be lying to say that he was not cold. The metal chains around his arms and legs did not help. These chains prevented him from approaching the very bars of the cage. For that, Erik was grateful that the crowd could not touch him physically. But then, the chains rubbed his wrists and ankles raw. Tightening the sack around his head, he wished… no, hoped… that Barsali would not make him take it off. But then again, this was Barsali. He never allowed him comfort.

He had no idea how he ended up with the gypsies in the first place. All he knew was that he was only in this state because he attempted to steal some bread from the traveling gypsies. No matter how hard he tried to remember, any detail of his childhood, he simply could not. The only thing he remembered was abuse, how glass and mirrors and verbal insults were used. And his face. For as long as he could remember his face was what ruined every prospect of normality. _Maybe I should just die,_ he thought. _The world wouldn't miss me. But why won't my body agree with that notion?_

Unfortunately, Barsali chose this exact time to grab Erik by his neck. His yelp of surprise was largely overshadowed by the crowd's roar of laughter. His grip tightening, Barsali continued to strangle Erik while whipping him with the other hand. But this time, Erik did not cry. No, in fact, he had fallen limp. Each lash, despite drawing out huge amounts of blood, did not release any screams as it did in the past. Confused, Barsali let go of his neck and ripped the sack off his head. The crowd's laughter turned to shrieks, but Erik did not falter. His eyes had locked into eye contact with a man amongst the crowd. His subtle beard and grey eyes gazed at Erik's body, taking every detail of his damaged skin. That man alone, out of the entire crowd, did not scream or laugh. His eyes showed… pity? Disgust? Compassion? Erik mentally shook his head. _No one pities a corpse like me_ , he thought. _Who could grow to love a corpse?_ But then again, had he had his mask and hair, he would've looked decent. Erik grimaced, remembering how his mask was shattered by the gypsies, and his hair was forcefully waxed off. These were, as far as he could tell, one of his oldest memories. Certainly they weren't pleasant. For now, the filthy bag served as his mask, and his hair, although it had regrown, did not regain its former thickness—now, his hair appeared thinner, and hung more sparsely from his head. Three years of unkempt care didn't help.

" _Sing, mic cadavru_!"

Erik automatically began to sing a slow, depressing tune. One that the crowd, had they visited before, never heard of before. Its unearthly beauty once again stunned them all.

" _I dreamed a dream… in times gone by_

 _When hope was high, and life worth living._

 _I dreamed that love would never die,_

 _I dreamed someone would be forgiving._

 _But there are dreams that cannot be,_

 _And there are storms I cannot weather…_

 _I had a dream, my life would be_

 _So much different from this hell I'm living._

 _So different now from what it seemed…_

 _Now life has killed…the dream I dreamed."_

Erik finished his tune to silence. He had intentionally sung in French, and fortunately, none of the gypsies could understand French. At least he was pretty sure of that. They knew no more than the few words needed to showcase the fair, specifically _Le Mort Vivant_. He had poured his heart, his suffering, into that piece, hoping to gain sympathy from that man.

With a scowl upon his face, Barsali retreated from the cage, announcing to the crowd that the fair was now closing for the day. Erik quickly replaced the sack on his head, yet continued to look at the crowd longingly. Most in the crowd seemed to have forgotten Erik's song, and, now that Barsali had left the cage, began throwing moldy vegetables, rocks, paper balls, anything they could lay their hands on that was in one way or another insulting. Erik once again cowered into the corner in fright. Again. But this time, he did not weep immediately. He instead chose to look at that man, who was now looking at him with sadness in his eyes. _This must be my lucky day,_ he thought. _Two people who did not act like everyone else at my presence_.

But then the man turned around and left with the rest of the crowd, shaking his head in silence. The last of the crowd gave their last... offerings... and dispersed into the night.

It was only then did the full brunt of what happened affect him. Erik broke down to hysterical sobbing, every inch of his body aching from the whip, which he had ignored up to this point because of that man. His previous scars had reopened, and Erik lay there curled up in his corner, bleeding and crying for the man to come back.

 _He must be an angel_ , Erik thought in between his tears. _An angel who could make he temporarily forget my pain and suffering. An angel who has found that even Erik, Le Mort Vivant, was undeserving of any further attention. Come back! Come back! Save me!_

Drying his worthless tears, Erik contemplated his life here. No one, not in three years, had entered his cage, with the exception of Barsali and his henchman Danior. As far as Erik could tell, the rest of the gypsies considered him dangerous, calling him ' _monstrul'_. Was it due to Erik's ability to learn so much about them within a short time? Their customs, their medicines, their language, their arts of ventriloquism and magic? Or was it for his face? Either way, the small cage had not been cleansed in a month. A floor that was covered with dirt and grime, only cleansed by Danior whenever the fair traveled, in an attempt to make Erik seem somewhat presentable initially. Barsali abuses him, at every possible moment. No one talks to the lonely 'person' in the cage.

A dreadful life indeed. _Come back… save me from this solitude!_

And then, Barsali returned, unlocking and relocking the cage door silently behind him. "You have some explaining to do," he barked out in Romanian.

* * *

Erik's little tune came from Les Misérables, "I Dreamed a Dream", sung by Fantine.

Reviews and comments are welcomed.


	5. Ch 4: Mercy

**Chapter 4: Mercy**

 _21 December 1863_

Gustave walked away from the camp. Already, he could tell that rescuing the boy would take all the wits, materials, and actions necessary. Heading back to the Sûreté office, he silently pled to the boy. _Don't give up, son. I'm going to get you out of there._ He paused. Had he just called the boy a son?

xxxx

"Answer me!"

The whip against his distorted skin echoed around the cage. Erik frantically shook his head, still cowering in his corner. "I…don't understand you, _domnule_ …!"

Another strike by the whip. "You know very well what I'm talking about, _monstrul,_ " Barsali sneered. "You wished to appeal to that Frenchman, didn't you?!"

Erik paled. He had not anticipated that Barsali could understand French, much less what he was singing. He flinched as the whip again made contact.

"No, no _domnule_ … I didn't… I mean…"

"Shut up."

Erik looked up fearfully. Whenever Barsali said that, he usually had something else planned, regardless of the conversation. Usually, it meant a beating and deprival of food. _Too bad_ , Erik thought. _Erik does not even have food right now. Not like that type of punishment will work on me._ Unfortunately, that did not seem to be the case tonight.

"Your keys, Barsali." Erik jerked his head towards the cage door. Danior was standing there, malicious grin plastered on his face, holding Barsali's keys in one hand and a wooden block in the other.

"Come in, Danior." Opening the door, Danior entered and quickly shut the door behind him. Both gypsies turned towards Erik. "I think it's time for the _monstrul_ to learn what no one will ever allow him to do."

Before Erik could even blink, he found his mouth forcefully stuffed with the wooden block. Whimpering in pain, he tried to repel the block away. Danior held his mouth shut.

"Shut it, _monstrul._ " Danior unlocked the chains around Erik's raw wrists and ankles, yet maintained a strong grip on his head and arms. Weak from hunger, malnourishment, and injury, Erik's eyes widened in fear as Barsali began untying the cords of his pants. This punishment was worse than he had anticipated.

Struggling, he managed to temporarily loosen the wooden block from his mouth. Erik released an ear-piercing scream.

xxxx

Gustave's pace fastened when he heard that awful scream cut through the plains. He had gone back to the office to get his revolver and cloak, as well as an emergency knife in the event of being disarmed. The cloak to shield away any unwanted attention at night, and the gun… personally, Gustave felt safer knowing that the gypsies, who used their leather whips, will be powerless against a gun.

Continuing on his path back towards the camp, the screams continued to grow louder and more tortured. Gustave could tell that, in any other situation, the voice would not be able to scream at all—whatever he was going through right now was probably very traumatizing. Despite the exhaustion of completing the same path to the camp twice, Gustave used the last of his strength to run towards the boy's cage. The screams no longer echoed from afar.

The sight disturbed Gustave horribly, to the point of sickness. He had hardly been gone for 15 minutes. The boy lay naked and gagged, clearly knocked out in his cage, with Barsali and Danior towering above him.

Hearing Gustave's silently approaching footsteps, Barsali hastily tied his pants together and looked around anxiously for the intruder. Seeing Gustave, he barked an order to Danior, and both men left the cage, locking the door behind them, before facing Gustave directly.

"Well, well. Look who is back to see the monster," Barsali sneered in French, dropping the door key in his pocket. "The Frenchman it so desperately attempted to appeal to."

"What the… what have you done to the boy? He's human too, you know!"

"I know very well, monsieur," despite his small stature in comparison to Gustave's 6 foot 2 frame, Barsali had an oppressive effect on Gustave, as he slowly began to back away. "But it is not fully human. Not even half worth anyone's pity. I only taught it a… _lesson_ about what it will never be able to do with women," he gestured towards the cold dark cage, where another… salty… odor was taking over the usual dirty smell.

Gustave regained his lost step, stepping forwards. "Half anyone's pity, your soul is worth less than his! Is he not your star attraction? Your big money-maker? Why punish him for something he has no control over? Why harm him in… inhumane ways that- "

"Oh excuse me, monsieur; this is my property, and not yours! Surely even the _French_ know rules about property! It has been mine ever since I found it wandering in our camp, searching desperately for food!"

"Property?! This is plain slavery and child abuse! I tell you, do you give him any form of comfort? Do you give him any time out of this cage? Sure as hell doesn't look like so!"

"It's in there for a reason! Why should we let it roam free in our camp? It frightens all; it does not deserve to roam free! It is a demon from the very pits of Hell!"

"For a sin that was not originally his! Why punish him for something that cannot be blamed upon him?!"

"To keep its hopes from even fizzing," Barsali smirked gleefully. "And needless to say, tonight, it won't dare do so again."

"Sir!" Gustave had it. He had attempted to reason with Barsali as much as possible. It proved pointless. Raising his voice, Barsali and Danior flinched slightly, surprised by the sheer volume his voice had. "I could very easily place you under arrest under the charges of child abuse, child rape, and slavery in general!"

"Then do so!" Barsali's face bared a snarl. His hands were practically twitching to grab the whip hanging slightly from his pants.

"But… I have one final offer. One last chance for you. To save your group. Give me the boy, and I shall pay you the amount he makes you in a year. No more, no less. Take your pick." He swung his hands out, almost as if each hand wielded a choice for Barsali to select.

Barsali grabbed the whip, grinning at Gustave victoriously. "Neither! That demon is mine, and no one will be hearing from you at all!"

 _Crack_. Gustave's .42 caliber LeMat revolver echoed through the camp. Danior's eyes widened as Barsali's body crumpled onto the floor, blood oozing out of the hole upon his chest. _How did this man react so fast?! I did not even see him reach for the gun! Gosh, I'm next if he's still in that mindset!_ Frightened, Danior ran away from the scene towards his caravan. _I must not cause panic now, in the dead of the night. Maybe, just maybe, this man will forget about the corpse-child and we will still have it within our cage._

Unfortunately for Danior, the child was the _only_ subject in his mind.

Grasping his shaking hand, which still was clasped tightly around the LeMat, he took steady deep breaths. Sinking to his knees, he quickly recited a prayer. _Dear God, I just killed someone. Oh no, dear God, please have mercy upon me! Surely this will go by, since this man was rotten to the core to begin with, no! Dear God, have mercy upon my soul…_

At that moment, a gust of wind blew. No, not a gust, more like a gentle breeze, feeling similar to a soft, cold touch.

Gustave got back up, feeling slightly more composed and stronger. Cautiously, in fear that Barsali would resurrect any moment, he felt around for the keys to the boy's cage. Feeling the cold metal brush against his fingers, he grabbed it and withdrew his hands eagerly. Hurrying over to the boy's cage, he clumsily tried one key after another. There were so many keys, Gustave was sure he spent a good 5 minutes trying to unlock the door. Finally, the door relented after the 30th key. Gustave quickly strode over to the poor boy.

Luckily, his chains were no longer around his neck, ankles and wrists. Taking off his cloak, Gustave quickly wrapped the child up and carried him out of the cage at a heightened pace. _My god, he's so light_ , Gustave thought. _What have they done to him?_

In the distance, the bells of Notre Dame tolled 12 times.

* * *

Just finished a complete layout of how this story will play through on my notebook. Updates will probably be more frequent now that I am better keeping track of what has happened.

Reviews and comments are welcomed.


	6. Ch 5: Gustave's Reflections

Just a little bit of fluff and background info before things get interesting.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Gustave's Reflections**

 _22 December 1863_

Tuesday. Gustave moved quickly but carefully underneath the clear night sky, with only the (almost full) moon releasing its dim lighting. The boy, still wrapped tightly in within his cloak, was still unconscious. Every so often, Gustave peered into the dark mass and checked on the boy. Every time, he felt like a failure. This boy was a reminder of how late he was to rescue. Had Gustave left the moment Antoinette first gave the suggestion, instead of waiting until now…

Gustave shook his head. _No, it would not have worked. Not in broad daylight_. Still, that was no excuse for what the child had just been through.

Not as if there was much comparison that Gustave could draw upon. His own life seems to have paled in comparison to the boy's.

He could still remember how he came to be the man he was today… How odd that this boy and his circumstances be so alike yet so different.

 _(5 May 1839)_

 _Gustave knelt in front of the Opéra-Comique, feeling tears run freely from his eyes. For nearly 2 years, he and his parents had been running from Oskar Ekwall, who they had previously hired to be their personal servant. However, the mysterious deaths of his siblings and relatives eventually drove Gustave and his parents to France, fearing for their lives and the safety of his son. Apparently, Oskar was after the Daaé family's vast fortune. Unfortunately, Oskar managed to track them down to their rented flat. Despite his parents' pleas, Oskar killed them and left Gustave with nothing more than his violin (Oskar destroyed his parents' will)._

 _That was how Antoinette found Gustave on that day. Newly orphaned, 17, alone, beaten to near death. He was desperately clinging to life in the Paris outskirts, trying to earn some money with his violin. Antoinette, bless her, was the only one who stopped and attempted to help him. At 15 years of age, her heart was almost like a heart of gold. Her elderly parents were reluctant to help him, but her insistence won over their hearts._

 _That's where Gustave spent the next three months at, with Antoinette, her parents, and her (then) childhood friend Henri Giry. The three teenagers were almost like the three musketeers, always seeking adventure whenever there was free time, which was rare, considering Antoinette's occupation as a ballet dancer and Henri's as a Sûreté officer. As a result of being the loner, Gustave began to feel weak, useless amongst the three._

 _A couple of days before the death of her parents, Gustave finally managed to rack up enough courage to ask Antoinette for a position at the Opéra-Comique. Being the shy man that he was, Antoinette went with him to the auditions. The managers were more than satisfied with his violin skills. Gustave got the job, and with the parents content that the three teenagers had solid careers ahead, died peacefully the next day…_

The cloak began to shift around, almost frantically. Gustave stopped walking and looked down, peering at the shadows. The boy was thrashing about, mouth moving wordlessly. Worried, Gustave placed one hand on the boy's forehead. _God, he's burning up!_ He finally managed to release a moan of pain.

"Calm down, sonny," Gustave whispered. "You're safe now. No one shall hurt you now."

The boy continued to moan and twist about, tangling himself in the cloak. Meant to provide protection, the cloak slowly found its way around the boy's head, beginning to strangle him. Panicking slightly, Gustave, still balancing the boy with his arm, began singing a soothing lullaby. _Hopefully, this will be enough to soothe the boy to sleep. I really don't want any attention drawn to me._

" _Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,_

 _Lavender's green_

 _When you are king, dilly dilly,_

 _None shall be mean…"_

The boy's thrashes gradually became less violent, almost as if he were taking in the words.

" _Who told you so, dilly dilly,_

 _Who told you so?_

' _Twas my own love, dilly dilly,_

 _That told me so._

 _Call up your strength, dilly dilly,_

 _Put them to play._

 _Some to your work, dilly dilly,_

 _Some for ev'ryday._

 _Some for music, dilly dilly,_

 _Some to your art,_

 _Whilst you and I, dilly dilly,_

 _Nevermore apart._

 _Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,_

 _Lavender's green_

 _When you are king, dilly dilly,_

 _None shall be mean._

 _Who told you so, dilly dilly,_

 _Who told you so?_

' _Twas my own love, dilly dilly,_

 _That told me so…"_

The boy's breathing resumed a steady pace, going limp once more. Gustave sighed. Withdrawing his hand from the boy's forehead, he cautiously wrapped it around the cloak and resumed his pace. _A song had soothed him. Is it perhaps because of Hannah?_

 _Hannah…_

 _It had been nearly a year since Antoinette's parents' deaths. The three friends still resided in Antoinette's house. Their incomes combined barely contributed to the payment, and Henri was essentially an orphan as well. Besides, all three enjoyed each other's company._

 _However, it did not take long for Gustave to note how his schedule still was more "free" than either Antoinette's or Henri's. For most mornings, he had absolutely nothing to do. Each day he would spend worthless hours contemplating his life, wondering where the scoundrel Ekwall was. He wondered if he could make a change in others' lives._

 _Finally, on 18 December 1840, he approached Henri and asked for a part-time job with the Sûreté._

 _And that was how Gustave found himself patrolling France. It felt… great to know he was serving the country as a good cause, helping its citizens in times of need._

But this boy's treatment…

 _Before he knew it, 17 years had passed by. Antoinette and Henri had been married for nearly 10 years; their feelings to each other had grown stronger with each year._

 _That had utterly crushed Gustave, who once again felt like an outcast. His feelings to Antoinette were apparently not strong enough in comparison to Henri's. He left Antoinette's home the day of their wedding and moved into his own little flat, which was within close proximity to the Opéra-Comique. However, he was not going to let the marriage ruin their friendship. The three still met up regularly each night in the opera house to perform (or, in Henri's case, spectate)._

 _And so, exactly 6 years before today, on 21 December 1857, he was riding to the city of Rouen. The gendarmerie required extra men in the city, and Gustave was given a few days off from the opera. Truthfully, Gustave felt relieved. He would no longer be dwelling with Antoinette and Henri and be negatively influenced by their closeness. Although it was wrong for him to think so, at the time, it was a blessing._

 _And that was how he encountered Hannah._

Now that he knew, Hannah had just escaped the Mulheim residence. All because of this boy. _No,_ Gustave reminded himself. _It was because of his so-called "mother". For perhaps a day or so, she had the chance encounter with Gustave._

 _After a brief conversation with the maid concerning her previous occupation, she agreed warily to accompany Gustave back to Paris, in hopes of a better occupation._

 _Gustave had felt giddy back then, almost as if he was floating on a cloud. Just looking at Hannah aroused even stronger feelings than he ever had towards Antoinette._

 _Imagine his surprise when he found his wife had an exquisite voice! For many nights, after Gustave's performance, they would sing and, in Gustave's case, play the night away. Not long after Hannah's introduction to Paris, Gustave recommended her to work at the opera house._

 _Hannah quickly found occupation as the understudy of the Prima Donna. By then, Gustave and Hannah were deeply in love, yet neither were willing to admit it to each other. For then, Gustave spent most of his time with Antoinette, trying to sort out his feelings with Hannah. He was 10 years her senior, and felt… unworthy of her._

 _Antoinette convinced otherwise._

 _Now here he was, with his wife of five years, about to start a family. Making a difference in the world._

Gustave stopped. Shifting the boy so he rested against his arm and torso, he knocked on the door.

* * *

Note* Oskar Ekwall is based off of the case of Sofia Maria Ekwall, a Swedish lady who murdered her father and maid in 1845 using arsenic.

Gendarmerie is the national French police force, specializing in small towns and the safety of the country from outsiders (basically, military).

Sûreté, on the other hand, are effectively policemen of large cities.

Song used is called "Lavender's Blue", an English folk lullaby, albeit heavily modified.

Reviews and comments are welcomed.


	7. Ch 6: Recovery

**Chapter 6: Recovery**

 _22 December 1863_

"Hannah?"

"Gustave? Is that you?" a slight whisper, barely audible, responded. "And do you have the boy?"

"Yes."

The door steadily cracked open. Cold blue eyes peered out of the dark interior. Gustave nodded at the sight of those eyes. Seeing his response, Hannah pulled the door, allowing him into their flat.

Gustave looked behind him, carefully making sure no one was hiding in the shadows, watching his move. As risky as it was to pause and check, it would ensure his reputation's safety and the safety of the boy's. Satisfied that no one was watching him, he entered the door, shoving the door closed behind him.

Hannah had lit a couple of candles and prepared the couch. She gestured at her approaching husband to the couch. He nodded, finally setting the cloak, boy and all, on the couch.

Moving the candles and gaslight so they surrounded the boy, both Hannah and Gustave finally had a clear, unobstructed view of him. Without a single article of clothing on him, they had a good view of his body. Skeletally thin, ribs protruding. His body bore many scars that overrode each other many times, some which reopened. Blood oozing out from all the cuts and marks. Many seemed to be at advanced stages of infection.

Blood dripping from where Barsali…

And his face…

"Oh god," Hannah breathed. "It is…! Erik! My Erik…!" she moved her hands onto his face and began to sob. "I'm sorry, Erik, I'm sorry…! I shouldn't have ever left you alone with that horrible woman..."

"Hannah…"

"His… f…face u…u…used to look… b…bet…er… than… this," she spoke in between sobs. She gently traced his face with her fingers, outlining each… scar and cut. They were certainly not present nearly six years ago. Worse, his right cheek looked as if… someone tried to burn it. As if the wound was never addressed. The skin really appeared dead there; burnt, it hung loosely from his already gaunt cheek.

 _It is already bad enough that his face looks like a death's head? Apparently not._ Hannah withdrew her hand and wiped her tears hurriedly. "Come Gustave. Give me some alcohol and the sewing kit. Perhaps a warm towel as well."

Gustave nodded and left to gather the supplies, leaving Hannah alone with the boy.

Hannah frowned. Despite her tears, Erik remained still, motionless. Almost as if… he was on the verge of death. Kneeling down next to him, she gasped at the sight. _Why did I not notice this before?_

His chest was barely rising up and down. His breathing was heavily labored. And on his right side, a long gash…

"Hurry, Gustave!"

Gustave immediately rejoined his wife's side, alcohol in one hand, needle and thread on the other. Handing them to Hannah, he went off for further supplies.

Hannah desperately attempted to insert the thread into the needle's loop. _Every second wasted is one less second for Erik_. But in the dim light, it was almost impossible to determine where the loop was. After multiple stabs to her thumb, Hannah finally managed to get the thread through.

Just in time too. Gustave returned with the rest of the supplies.

"Clean his body," she instructed, trying her best to keep a neutral face. _I must keep strong. I cannot break down now. For if I do…_ she'd rather not think about it. Gustave again obliged, gently scrubbing away all the dirt and blood with a warm towel.

It was even worse once all the grime was gone. Erik's body was a mess indeed. His entire being resembled an old chopping block, dents left behind from continuous abuse. It took all of her endurance not to break down into more sobs.

By the time Hannah and Gustave were done disinfecting, addressing, and bandaging every single wound, the sun was already hazily peeking up from the horizon. Satisfied, Gustave got up and decided to wash himself down. Hannah, on the other hand, continued to sit next to Erik, still concerned about the deep gash to his side. That particular slash traveled from armpit to hip. Glancing at Erik's fingers for the first time, she gasped. _How did Gustave and I completely neglect to check his hands?_ She brought both of her hands onto Erik's, examining every detail.

His left hand appeared relatively intact, with the exception of faded scars, which Hannah suspected to have come from the mirror incident all those years ago. His right hand, on the other hand, was bent at an extremely odd angle. The fingers were all jutting out in impossible directions.

"Gustave! Get me more bandages!"

XXXX

It had been five days since Gustave had first brought Erik home. Hannah had quickly attended to his damaged fingers, yet neither Gustave nor Hannah could do anything about the fever. It continued to rise with each day, threatening to defeat the poor boy. Each day, the two became more and more fearful for the boy's life.

And if the fever wasn't enough, both knew that Erik needed nutrition. A meal. Water. The gypsies had provided none of those for who knows how long. Gustave could tell; he had covered many cases in which the victim would starve him or herself to death.

But how do you exactly administer food for an unconscious boy? In the end, Hannah fed Erik the food, while Gustave held him upright and moved his jaw when necessary. It was messy, and they didn't dare risk feeding him solid food.

Gustave and Hannah also changed his bandages daily and continued disinfecting them. They feared that his wounds would be too great, and that he would not make it. Luckily though, Erik pulled through the first night. They also took that opportunity to dress him in some _nice_ clothes. A warm nightshirt and pants to keep him warm. Many blankets to protect from the cold. For, if he ever recovered, they wanted him to feel warm and safe immediately, knowing he was protected and loved.

Despite all this, Erik's condition remained at a standstill. There were no major changes to him; he still remained unconscious and in a coma-like state; he could not eat or drink by himself; his fever, although finally relieved, still raged; and his cheek burn in particular was not healing.

"Oh Gustave," Hannah hugged Gustave tightly on the fifth day of tending Erik. "I fear Erik won't make it. I fear… I fear he will never recover."

"Don't give up, Hannah," Gustave choked back his sobs, determined to remain firm, a sturdy rock for Hannah to lean upon. "He will recover. Don't give up hope just yet."

XXXX

Erik felt content. He could remain in this dream forever. Being cared for like an actual human being, it was so radically… _different_ from what he was used to. He didn't want to leave this haven of his. Perhaps he could remain so forever.

If it weren't for the shadows that were plaguing him…

Every second, he could feel many pairs of eyes following him. No matter how hard he tried to retreat into his sweet haven, one certain pair would continuously gaze at him.

Every day, those eyes got closer to him.

Every day, a silhouette gradually formed, giving the shadow a definite shape. Every day, he could hear echoing footsteps and the crack of a whip in a distance. Every day, jeers of cruel laughter became louder and louder, echoing about his "haven".

"No…"

 _Look down, look down,_

 _Don't look him in the eye…_

The shadow stood in front of him.

"Stay away from me!"

 _Look down, look down,_

 _You're here until you die…_

The haunting melody continued repeating through his mind. Try as he might, the grim reality still was (quite literally) staring at him in the face.

 _Look down, look down,_

 _Sweet Jesus doesn't care…_

This madness can't keep going on forever, can it? Erik hoped not. This was pure torture. He wanted nothing more than to rest eternally in peace.

 _Sink into the night, dark and cool and kind,_

 _Let it set you free, let the past unwind…_

 _Leave your hurt… behind._

This new melody echoing in his mind was pure bliss. That man, that angel from before, had replaced the shadow, singing softly and gently. Erik smiled. Maybe it won't be bad, this limbo-like existence.

At least that's what he thought. Quickly enough, that man shifted back to the shadow, reaching out and grabbing him by his neck.

 _No… no… too familiar… If only I could scream..._

XXXX

"Go to sleep, Hannah. He'll call to our attention when he needs to."

Gustave crept out of their room to the living room. There was Hannah, sitting next to Erik. Ever since that night, Hannah had spent every night at the boy's side, singing soft melodies for him and the unborn child.

Hannah shook her head and refused. She could tell something was wrong. Erik was twisting and turning on the sofa, moaning "no" continuously from his thin lips, making various faces of pain and fear.

"See Gustave? He seems to be making progress. I want to be there when he finally reawakens."

Gustave couldn't help but feel… jealous to the boy, who commanded his wife's attention unknowingly. But then again, who was he to blame? Of course she would feel attached to the boy she had taken care of for nearly three years. He had no right to be jealous. He too was beginning to adore this boy beyond describable words.

Gustave sat down next to his wife, arms wrapped around his soon-to-be child. "I know, Hannah. I hope that he will come back to us soon." And he meant it. "But do you think our child will accept Erik though?"

"I'm sure of it. Children do not know the differences when they are born. Rather, they are tau—"

Erik released an ear-piercing scream that carried on for minutes. Both Gustave and Hannah turned to Erik. His eyes were open, taking in his surroundings, and his thin mouth, finally tired of screaming, began letting out soft whimpers. No, he was not in that blasted cage, but in a warm and cozy house. He could feel the presence of people. Finally noticing their presence, he turned his head towards them. His glowing amber eyes gazed into them with fear and hope.

"Who... who are you? And where is Erik?"

* * *

Quotes from Erik's dream are pieces from the following musicals:

"Look Down" from Les Misérables

"Why Does She Love Me?" from Love Never Dies, Meg's line.

Reviews and comments are welcomed.


	8. Ch 7: A Barrier

**Chapter 7: A Barrier**

 _28 December 1863_

"Who... who are you? And where is Erik?"

Gustave and Hannah were still in shock. Now that he was up, they didn't know _what_ to tell him, much less _how._

Minutes ticked by. With each that passed, Erik became more and more frightened. He could sense that he did not possess his sack. His face was exposed to the two. _Why can Erik not remember where he last was? Why did it feel like he was awakening from a very deep slumber?_

Somehow, he knew that something bad always happened whenever his face was unexposed. Surely this was no exception. Were they here to torture to him further? A nightmare beyond his imagination? Or is this a dream? A final fantasy his mind created before he dies?

Either way, he could not trust these two people. Not even if the man bore a resemblance to the angel sent to him.

Gustave cleared his throat, speaking first. "Sonny, you are currently in my house. You have been asleep for six days." He looked at Erik with great sympathy. Unfortunately, Erik took the look as one staring at his face.

"Erik… sees." He quickly ducked under the blankets, curling up into a ball. Or at least, he tried to. His body ached all over, and, gazing under the covers, found himself completely wrapped in bandages. "Hurt… Erik hurts so much…"

"We know, Erik."

Erik looked fearfully up from the blankets. A divine voice, so vaguely familiar, yet he couldn't place a name to it.

Hannah looked at Erik oddly. His eyes seemed unfocused, almost as if he were trying to decipher something. _Ah, wait. Gustave and I haven't even introduced ourselves yet. Does he still remember me?_

"My name is Hannah," she began, "and this is my husband Gustave Daaé." She looked at Erik's exposed face lovingly, hoping for recognition to appear upon his face. There was no change in demeanor. "Don't you… remember me?"

"Pardon, Madame?" Erik shook his head. "Erik recalls Madame's voice… but Erik cannot place a name or time." He looked down shamefully. "Erik feels that Erik was close to Madame once." He looked up again, at Hannah, pleadingly. "Please don't punish Erik for not remembering!"

 _Why is Erik saying this? Why did he instantly apologize for the simple action of asking?_ Even he himself did not know why.

"Oh, don't apologize, poor Erik!" Hannah got up and attempted to stroke his forehead. At this action, Erik let out an agonized whimper and recoiled, arms instinctively reaching up to his face.

Except for the fact that his entire right arm was completely bandaged. The sudden action upon his shattered fingers sent additional waves of pain.

"Please, no Madame!" Erik was basically begging now, tears streaming down both of his cheeks, which were rolling over every imperfection on his face. Continuing to hold his hands to cover his face, he added pleadingly, "don't touch this excuse of a face."

 _So, he cannot remember what he has gone through, but still retains the basic essentials about himself and what has been taught to him_ , Gustave thought. _I should perhaps note this…_

"Now, now Erik," Hannah didn't know how to follow up. It was hard enough that Erik could not remember her existence in his life, but to think that he would cower in fear at a motherly gesture on instinct! She withdrew her hand reluctantly.

Perhaps it was because of Hannah's action. Perhaps it was something else that was imbued upon his mind. "Where is Erik's sack?" He gripped his face tightly, desperately feeling for something… anything… to hide his abomination.

"Erik, don't do this! I've already seen your face more than once and I truly do not see anything wrong with it! I should know, for I cared about you almost every day!"

Erik froze. He couldn't breathe even if he wanted to. The woman— _Hannah, you beast, not the woman_ —spoke to him with such truthfulness. Her eyes held nothing but adoration and concern for him, as if his actions were controlling her… or rather; her actions were based on how he reacted.

Hannah was taken back by what she just said. True, she had seen his face plenty of times, but to say every day? For once, she blessed Erik's current amnesia. _Thank goodness he won't be able to recall that small detail. How I had failed him in the past as his guardian from his poor excuse of a mother_.

For a while, the room was quiet. Erik dared not to breathe too deeply or quickly, in fear that this would all turn back into unspeakable pain. Meanwhile, Hannah and Gustave chose not to perform any action, in fear that _they_ would end up scaring the boy any more than he already was. The sun steadily rose, the warm rays of sunlight illuminating the living room.

Finally, Gustave chose to break the silence. "I'll go prepare breakfast." He got up, taking one last look at Erik and Gustave, and left.

As soon as Gustave left the living room, Erik felt tense, tempting to duck under the blankets once more. Somehow, he did not trust this woman, despite her obvious pleas, her bearing all emotion for him to see. He trusted Gustave, yes, the Monsieur who he recalled… what exactly did he recall about him? Erik shook his head. _Why does Erik's life feel cut up and shattered? Why did Erik's life feel so different? Why…?_

"Erik," he flinched, hearing the desperation under her voice. "Don't you remember me at all…?"

"Hannah, don't you think it is a little too soon to try and resurface his memories?" Gustave's voice drifted from the kitchen parlor. "Little Erik must have been under all that stress, considering his treatment with those blasted gypsies who know so little about crimes against humanity."

"I understand, Gustave." Hannah turned her head away from Erik, tears now really streaming from her eyes. "It's just so cruel, all he suffered… all because I wasn't there when he needed it most."

 _What…? What did Monsieur Gustave and Madame Hannah just say? Gypsies? Crimes against humanity? Cruel? …suffered? …wasn't there?_ Realization hit him hard. A barrier that kept all the bad memories came flooding down.

Gypsies. The whippings. The verbal abuse. The physical abuse. The hunger. And worse… that night…

"No…"

His vision began to fog out, the sunny living room replaced with a cold, dark cage. The shadowed figure was back, bearing down upon him once more.

"Go away from Erik…"

Touching. Violating. The shadow treated Erik like a sick toy, a slave, a prostitute. Not human, not even a man. Not even the boy he actually was.

"NO!"

XXXX

Hannah was shocked by the turning of events. One moment, Erik was lying on the couch calmly, albeit semi-alert, and the next moment was clutching his head and hunching over into a ball, screaming hysterically. "Go away!" "Not Erik!" "Erik is just a boy!" these screams and whimpers tore Hannah's heart, knowing for sure that Erik was re-experiencing his locked memories.

 _Why did I want Erik to remember about me? I should've known that he would have to go through the gypsies before he can really try to remember my role_.

"Hannah, what's wrong? Why is Erik screaming like so?" Gustave rushed towards his wife's side, hugging her as if she had just escaped a haunted house. He glanced at the little ball amongst the blankets, shaking and screaming.

"It was our fault, Gustave. He reacted to your comment about gypsies and my comment about the condition of life. I think he also realized that he had been raped…" she mumbled. "Oh, how do you soothe a poor child who has gone through so much pain for his age?"

"I… I don't know, Hannah." He looked into her blue eyes, willing for an answer to come from her. Honestly, he didn't know what to do himself.

Hannah thought for a moment. "Didn't you say he also started reacting that night? Perhaps we should sing for him!" Her face brightened upon the idea. "It's been such a while since I have sung! Maybe my voice will bring some fonder memories back upon him!" She winced at another scream coming from the shuddering Erik.

"NO!"

"Wha… but Gustave…!"

"No, Hannah! This is for your safety! Remember why I made you quit being the understudy? I don't want you to strain your voice, especially not this advanced into pregnancy." He patted her belly with his left hand. "I don't want to risk losing you, damage your voice, or watch you hurt our child in any way possible."

Hannah's face fell. "I…I suppose so." Her husband had a point though. It was wise not to overstress her body any more than it already was. "Perhaps you should sing to him, then!" Her face once again brightened upon the idea. God, she loved Gustave's singing voice!

Gustave looked at her oddly, but relented. Separating himself from Hannah, he replied, "very well, my dear. Do you have any suggestions on any soothing songs?"

She stroked his subtle beard lovingly. "Surprise us, my love."

He thought for a moment, then began to sing.

" _Somebody told me that you have given up on your smile,_

 _That must mean you've been lost and dazed now for a while,_

 _To us you don't have to keep hiding away who you are_

 _Remember now we said together we would go far._

 _Long days, side by side,_

 _Oh, we wish to remember how you laughed and how you smiled_

 _So when you're down and out from your troubled life,_

 _We will be there for you, smiling for you,_

 _When all you have is doubt, know that we are around,_

 _We will be there for you, smiling for you."_

He stopped, wondering how Erik would react. Amazingly, the boy finally released himself from his tight ball and was staring at Gustave in wonder.

"Monsieur… that was beautiful. I've never heard anything like that before."

Hannah cringed on the inside. _That's what I told him about his singing voice all those years ago._

"Thank you, Monsieur." He tried wiping away his tears in vain.

"My dear boy, don't dry your tears now. We are here for you. My wife and I. We both know how much you suffer, and we wish to make it up for you."

"But Monsieur, Erik doesn't want anyone's pity. Erik wants to be loved for who Erik is. Thank you for nursing Erik, but Erik must go. Erik feels like a burden-" he pushed the blankets off of him, but Gustave reacted quicker and replaced the blankets.

"But you are! Hannah and I want to help you, and we love you as you are. You need not to fear for your face, for that is of no concern here. In fact…" he looked at Hannah, watching her reaction to his next words carefully. "We wanted to raise you, and unofficially adopt you."

"You… would?" Erik shook his head frantically. "This must be a dream. No one would take Erik for who he is, no, not even the gypsies…"

Gustave sat down gently next to the boy on the (already cramped) couch. He lightly moved his hand over Erik's arm, who did not flinch upon his touch. His arm was like ice. "My dear boy," he said kindly, "this is not a dream. We are here for you."

Erik looked at the man, who must certainly be heaven-sent. "Thank you," he whispered. The shock of the events that just occurred finally took a toll upon him, and he closed his eyes weakly.

"But first, you must eat. Erik, I shall make you something to eat. Is that fine with you?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Good," he got up and went back to the kitchen.

Hannah felt oddly left out. Erik had basically warmed up to Gustave within minutes of initial talk, and yet Erik refused to talk to Hannah, much less allow her to contact him.

"Madame?" Erik called weakly. Hannah was snapped out of her depressed thoughts.

"Yes, Erik?"

"Thank you for being patient with Erik. Erik apologizes if Madame feels left out. Erik does not want to harm anyone."

 _He can still read my mind. Just like all those years ago._ "It's nothing, Erik. We wish for you to recover quickly and stay with us."

Gustave came back with a platter of toast and eggs, setting it in front of Erik. "I hope this is to your liking, Erik," he said. He looked down shamefully. "Unfortunately, I am not much of a cook, so if it is too bland…"

"Oh Monsieur, thank you very much!" Gustave felt as if his pride was swelling up.

 _Is this how parenting will be like?_ He grinned sheepishly at Erik. _I can get used to this pretty soon._

* * *

 _For further clarification, Erik lost all of his memory upon awakening, and regains them through interactions with key moments with his past._

Song used here is a modified "Dying for You" by Otto Knows ft. Lindsey Sterling and Alex Aris.

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

Reviews and comments are welcomed.


	9. Ch 8: Theories and Rumors

**Chapter 8: Theories and Rumors**

 _30 December 1863_

Louis Mifroid frowned as he read and reread the report. Absurd, that's all he could say.

The report was filed by a gypsy and was hardly legible, crudely written in France. God, the paper was hard to understand! As far as he could make out, the document told of the murder of the clan's leader and the kidnapping of one of their members.

Gypsies. Louis pushed the report away from his being and sighed. These traveling gypsies were getting out of hand. Although he had never seen the fair, he had heard rumors of unsanitary conditions and… reports of theft. Not to be trusted, those gypsies.

But there was no proof. No sign that the gypsies were actually all they described as. Official Sûreté reports speak of sufficient cleanliness, and noted no theft.

And then again, another doubt. Why would the gypsies do anything in an officer's presence? Their clean and crisp uniforms stood out even amongst a flurry of color at a ball. It is not hard to recognize one.

Wiping his hand on his left eyebrow, Louis winced. The scar from so long ago throbbed in all this confusion. _A scar and a past that cannot be remembered…_

Louis did not know how he even arrived in Paris. All he knew was that he awoke, a new man, lying in an open coffin. Assumingly, he had been declared dead and was preparing for burial. Gosh, the mere memory of waking up though! Fortunately, he awoke at the very late at night, where no one was there to guard him. Imagine his surprise when the newspapers declared that the dead were starting to rise! "News! Dead Man for a Day Mysteriously Vanishes From Morgue!"

Louis chose not to read the newspaper he found abandoned. Instead, he hid. Not even knowing his name, nor wanting to associate himself with the newspaper, he thought of the first name he could think of—"Louis Mifroid" became his new name—and he quickly sought for a new job.

That was how he ended up with the Sûreté. First, as a lowly officer. Now, a reclusive Chief who oversaw all reports in Paris, no, in all of France, and issued warrants and investigations. Still, he longed to remember his so called "previous" life. If he tried, he could remember a pair of hauntingly beautiful sea-blue eyes, gazing longingly upon his soul. _This life I am living, am I to live the rest of his days as a chief of the Sûreté, an empty shell that has been molded by the public? With no history as to how I became who I am?_ Shaking his head, he looked back at the report. _No use pondering on the wasted years, should I?_

XXXX

Gustave entered the Sûreté office in a happy mood.

"Morning Alain! How's the coffee, Renaud? How do you do, Georges?"

The men in the lounge were startled by Gustave's obviously different demeanor. Whistling to a rather joyful tune, he was oblivious to his coworkers' stares of disbelief.

"Is Monsieur Mifroid still in his office?"

"Oui," another officer responded.

"Merci." Gustave walked towards Mifroid's office. Upon hearing the office door close, hushed whispers began.

"Did you see his stride?"

"Was this due to the gypsies?"

"Perhaps he had something to do with it…"

XXXX

"Ah, Louis! How was your day? I apologize for taking the past 8 days off."

"No worries, Gustave." He gestured to the chair in front of him. "Come, sit." Gustave sat down. "So, what was your reason for taking those days off though? You never have requested for even an hour off of work before."

Gustave was bursting with pride and happiness. "I found a young orphan who was starving and near the brink of death; I couldn't just leave him out there! The little boy bonded with me in the past two days. It seemed like he had never been shown kindness. Imagine me, a mere man, bringing so much happiness and joy to a life! Just watching him smile slightly is worth all the hardships to earn it! If this was what fatherhood will be like, I could die right now and be a happy man!" He beamed, looking at Louis, who remained expressionless. His face fell. "Is something wrong, Louis?"

"Gustave." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Louis looked down at his hands. "I've been _alive_ for the past 8 years, but I cannot remember anything before these 8 years." He looked up at Gustave, who paled slightly at his words. "I woke up in a morgue, not knowing who I was or what I was doing, and the only thing I have that can bear any reminders to my past is this scar…" He traced the long scar on his forehead lightly.

Gustave frowned. In the past 8 years of working here, he never paid too much attention to Louis's appearance, only his manners and actions. Now, looking at his face clearly for the first time, he was shocked by the detail he had missed out upon.

A clean, cut face with an overall gaunt appearance. An air of superiority. Unbelievably tall, even when compared to Gustave's frame. Long fingers worn from… what? _Almost as if they had handled rough material for a while. Like a mason…_ Dark brown hair that was steadily fading to gray, starting at the temples. And most hauntingly, his eyes. Emerald green in color, yet contained a hint of …amber?! Just a slight amount that gathered at the very bottom of the pupils.

 _This man… bears such a strong resemblance to little Erik. It's rather shocking, actually. Heck, they even act nervous in the same manner!_ Louis was lightly drumming his fingers on the desk, all while desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Gustave. Seeing Erik in the past few days doing the same action around Hannah… the similarities between these two were unnerving.

 _But should I let him know? For all I know, this may just be one bizarre coincidence. Maybe my eyes are just playing tricks on me. Perhaps I should not mention it…_

"I—I see." Gustave looked away, realizing that it was probably uncomfortable to be gazing at another man's face for so long.

"Somehow, I feel connected to this boy that you are describing." The tapping stopped, and Louis's eyes were now aimed directly at Gustave. _Even his voice sounds similar to Erik. My god!_

"I'm sure that you would like to meet him soon enough. Erik is a gen—"

The door slammed open. "Monsieur Mifroid!"

Gustave turned around, shocked. Officer Gaspar stood, holding a stack of files that were on the brink of falling out of his hands.

"What is it, Gaspar?"

"Those gypsies have filed more reports," he set the papers down on the desk. "Yet, all state the same crime, the same claim." Seeing Gustave's confused look on his face, he crinkled his nose. "Apparently they are looking for some deformed freak that has been missing for eight days. Rumor is that someone with authority killed a gypsy and took the freak from them."

Gustave paled considerably. _Oh lord, I'm going to get in trouble now. Here I am, thinking I was doing something noble, when I have in truth committed a sin…_

Gaspar instantly noted Gustave's lack of response and change in facial expression. "Was it… you, Gustave? Are you the person these gypsies pine for the blood of? Did you take the freak away from them?"

Louis looked upon the scene with interest. Gustave seemed quite nervous upon the discussion of gypsies, and was certainly trying not to look at Gaspar in the eye.

"N-no. No. I did not."

"So do care to explain where you have been these past 8 days."

Gustave eyed Louis nervously, willing his friend to play along. "I have been tending my wife," he finally mumbled out. "The pregnancy is rather hard on her, and she fell ill 8 days ago. I was busy taking care of her and ensuring that all was well before I returned back here." _Well, at least that was partially the truth. Except it wasn't Hannah who was ill. It was Erik._

Gaspar narrowed his eyes. "I don't quite believe you, Gustave." He hunched down so his eyes were level with Gustave's. "You're not telling me something," he hissed. "I believe you are who they seek, you who took their belonging, you who ruined their 'life'." He straightened himself up, looking smugly at Gustave. "Perhaps I should search your household and see whether all is true."

"Now, now Gaspar." Louis rose. "It is illegal to enter another's property without permission or a warrant."

"But surely you can issue one, Mons—"

"I shall not."

He looked at Louis in a mixture of surprise and disgust. "And here I was thinking that you perhaps had sense in you, _Monsieur_ ," Gaspar scoffed. "Apparently, you do not. Good day." He turned on his heel and slammed the door.

Gustave exhaled deeply. Gaspar was finally gone. He turned around to face Louis again, only to be met with demanding eyes.

 _Those eyes that burn. And have turned… amber?!_

It was true. The amber had now completely overtaken the previous emerald shade, mirroring Erik's eye color. The resemblance was uncanny.

"Well? Care to elaborate, Gustave? What have you really been doing?"

Gustave sighed. It was now or never to confess to the boss. "Fine, I will. But please bear in mind, that my actions may or may not be justifiable." He looked down. "I first… heard word about Erik from my friend, who had gone to visit the fair the previous day. She spoke of his pain, his condition. She begged me to help him in any way possible. I spoke with my wife afterwards, and she agreed wholeheartedly. Especially when she learned that Erik bore a striking resemblance to another boy she raised, under the name of Erik Mulheim." He glanced at Louis, wondering if the mention of his surname would cause any change in facial expression.

Louis barely nodded, urging Gustave to continue. "So, I decided to see for myself if what my friend said was true. The sight was even worse than described. Sure, his face was deformed, but the boy was treated as an animal, no, even worse! Like a slave. Chains around his neck, his wrists, his ankles. His cage was filthy from the lack of cleaning. His actions spoke of fear, his body bore many scars and were receiving new ones each day. Scarring isn't supposed to be deep at this stage of life! He's only 9 years old!" Licking his lips, Gustave continued. "That wasn't all though. When I returned later on, I found that the poor boy had been raped. By the 'gypsy master' and his henchman. It was disgusting! Inhumane! I tried to drill into their heads that their actions were inexcusable, I tried to give them alternative choices, Louis!" he slammed his fist on the desk, tears now freely falling from his tired eyes.

"So… then I assume that you attacked back in self-defense."

"Oui," Gustave whispered. "He attempted to strangle me. But I shot him first. His henchman ran off, while I was left to deal with the consequences. Erik was hardly alive in that miserable excuse of a home. He barely recovered, only regained consciousness two days ago." Louis sat down, immersed in the conversation. "It took some time for him to trust me. He couldn't remember where he came from, and not what the gypsies had done to him." He finally faced away from Louis, not wanting to look at the chief any further.

"Gustave…"

"Louis, before you say another word! Before you arrest me and cart me off to prison! Don't take Erik back to those horrible gypsies… In Mercy's name, don't do it, for his sake."

"I'm not going to arrest you."

"Pardon?" turning his head back to the chief, mouth agape.

"This boy obviously needs some love in his life. Judging by even Gaspar's reaction, I'm sure he received very little."

"Louis…"

"Take care of him. Don't make him dwell on the past. Fill his life with happiness, to avoid the empty shell of his past life…" _Like mine._

"Certainly, I will!" Gustave got up, renewed fire in his being. "But, what will you do with these reports?" he gestured at the cluttered desk.

Louis chuckled. "Gypsies are not to be trusted, no? That's common knowledge. Just deny them access to the report forms, especially those that have submitted _these_ particular ones."

"Very well then." Gustave didn't like the idea of leaving every gypsy vulnerable, but what choice did he have? "Thank you, Louis, for acting like a true friend." He left the office, leaving Louis to fill out a notice.

XXXX

"Dammit!" the shadow cursed at the new post on the office wall. "Blast that officer! Damn him!" Fists into balls, he stormed off.

"I will kill that officer who stole the thing from us! That _monstrul_ will be ours again, mark my words!"

* * *

Very fragmented and heavily modified portion of "The Confrontation" at the end of Gustave's confession. It's not very noticeable, but…

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

Reviews and comments are welcomed.


	10. Ch 9: Asperger

**Chapter 9: Asperger**

 _30 December 1863_

"Here, Erik, try these on."

Today was the first day Erik was without Gustave—his first day alone with Hannah. For some odd reason, Erik couldn't bring himself to trust the Madame. So far, she had cut Erik's hair to a nicer style (Erik had to admit, Hannah seemed to know exactly what he preferred) and practically forced Erik to try on new clothes.

"Must Erik?" he eyed the casual attire with a neutral expression. "Erik does not like it. Erik prefers something more formal… Erik prefers… "

Hannah sighed. Of course. His mindset over preference of attire has not changed since Madeleine Mulheim's rule.

"Very well, then. But you must accompany me to go purchase them."

Erik frowned, his left hand jerking slightly. The Madame was obviously trying to coax him out of the house, to spend some free time. He reached up towards his face, whispering, "but Erik's face… No one wants to see Erik's face. It is an abomination that others will jeer at…"

 _Mon dieu. I forgot._ "Right, but Erik…"

"…perhaps Erik should just kill himself right now. Perhaps Erik should swallow some poison. Yes, that's what Erik shall do, shall he not? Or perhaps make Madame angry enough to abandon him…" he muttered rapidly, eyes no longer focused on Hannah or the clothes.

"Erik… Erik? Is something wrong?" Hannah set the clothes down and approached the boy, whose left hand was now scratching frantically at his face. _Perhaps I am not hearing him right._

He paid no heed to Hannah's word.

"…Yes, that's what Erik shall do. Erik shall claw his face out, perhaps then Erik shall bleed to death? Monsieur Gustave is not here—he will not know. He should not know. Erik is bad. Erik is very bad. Erik is very bad for hurting Monsieur. But it is for the best, it is for the best for Monsieur and Madame. Erik must take quick action before Monsieur comes ba—"

"ERIK!" Erik's face jerked out of his trance, eyeing Hannah fearfully.

"Ma-madame?" he asked timidly, as if he had done nothing wrong.

"What were you muttering about?"

"P-p-pardon, Madame?" Erik was genuinely confused. _What had Erik been doing in the past minute or so?_

Hannah looked at him suspiciously. He really seemed to have no idea about what happened. His amber eyes showed nothing but confusion. _Does he really not remember what he was doing? Oh lord._

"Never mind, Erik."

"Could you at least purchase a mask for Erik now? Please?" he looked up at Hannah, eyes now pleading. Hannah sighed. What else could she do for him?

"Very well then. Stay indoors for the time being, okay? Read some books if you'd like. You know where the library is, no?" Erik nodded. "I shall be back as soon as possible."

XXXX

"Erik? Where are you?" Hannah opened the door slowly, trying hard not to disturb the child within her.

"Up here, Madame."

"Come down here, I purchased it for you."

Erik slowly made his way to the living room, left arm gripping on one of Gustave's odd books, _Gray's Anatomy: Descriptive and Applied_. Hannah's eyes widened at the sight of the book in his arm.

"Erik! You mustn't read that book! It is not suitable for children like you!"

"But Erik is not a child, Madame… Erik is an ugly beast." He dropped the book. He caressed his face with his left hand. "No one calls Erik human. Always the freak! Always the monster! Always the vermin! Anything except human!" With each accusation, his voice rose exponentially, echoing around Hannah like warm air. "No one cares for Erik like a boy. No one…" He crossed his arms, hugging his body tightly, his voice diminishing just as quickly.

"No one but Monsieur Gustave…"

Hannah's heart dropped. _Erik did not consider her as trustworthy._

"I do as well." Her blunt statement made Erik look up in surprise. "Gustave and I love you just the way you are, regardless of your face. You are only a monster if that is what you consider yourself one to be so."

"But, Madame… Erik does—"

"Please stop referring yourself as Erik." Her tone was borderline threatening. Erik was taken back.

"Why—"

"Nobody refers to themselves by their own names. Use 'I' from this point onwards."

"But—"

"No buts!" Her warm brown eyes blazed in anger and frustration.

"Madame!" Erik was crying now, turning away from Hannah. "You're just like the others, always forcing Erik to do what they want to do. You don't care about me at all!"

Hannah paled, snapping out of her own persona. "Erik, you don't underst—"

"Erik understands fully well!" Erik glared at Hannah, left hand dropping and forming a fist, while his injured right hand remained crossed. "You're not like Monsieur Gustave! He never forced Erik to do anything, nothing! Everything was at Erik's own accord!"

"Er—"

"Just leave Erik alone already!" Grabbing the discarded book on the floor, he turned and abruptly ran to his room.

Speechless and alone in the living room, Hannah wept, the little bag unceremoniously dropped at her feet. _What had she done?_

XXXX

Her melancholy did not last long however. His screams tore through the room, and Hannah, completely forgetting the recent conversation, and rushed to the source of the screams.

"Erik! ERIK?! What's going on?"

Out of breath and clutching her belly, Hannah reached the sole bathroom in the house. Erik was collapsed on the floor, left hand shaking while clutching a small hand mirror.

"Er…Erik truly is a monster, no?" he looked up at Hannah shakily and laughed nervously. "First Erik yells at Erik's elders, and now Erik cries over a mirror. Erik is pathetic…"

 _Oh Erik. If only you knew what pregnancy does to a woman's emotions._ "I don't blame you, Erik," Hannah said softly. "I have no excuse for my words and actions…"

Erik nodded. "Oui, Erik read about it in there…" he pointed almost accusingly at the thick book next to his feet. Still trembling, he looked down upon his defeated form and whispered, "Erik… Erik is sorry for hurting Madame with words."

"Oh Erik…"

"Erik… Erik means I… will try to do as Madame wishes. Er—I know that Madame only wants what is best for Er—me." His words came out disjointedly and slowly.

Hannah offered her hand to the fallen boy. "There's no need to apologize to me, Erik, for I have hurt you just as much as you have to me." Erik hesitated, then accepted her hand, letting go of the small mirror in the process. Pulling him up from the ground, Hannah hugged him in a loose embrace.

"Oh Erik, how I've missed you so!"

Erik didn't know how to react, much less say. His first hug. His first embrace. Coming from this woman who apparently knew him in the past. It all seemed so familiar to him, but… his left hand twitched around. "Madame…"

Hannah pulled away. "Right, about the mask." She led him back to the abandoned bag. She pointed at it. "Open it," she said softly.

 _Why does Madame make me get it? Why can't she get it herself?_ Erik knew he was being highly unreasonable and selfish, but he opened his mouth to speak. Turning to Hannah, he finally remembered. _Right. Madame is with a child. Making her bend down to grab something will only hurt her. Erik is a fool. A fool. A beast without compassion._ His throat started burning up, and turned away from Hannah. "Erik is a fool, a fool to even think so…"

"Erik?"

"Erik should not have thought so. Erik should have been grateful for Madame to purchase the mask. But no, the beast wanted her to pick it up for him!" He laughed madly. "Oh, Erik is such a fool, such a fool. Erik forgot she is with a child. A child that should be protected. And here Erik wants harm on the child unintentionally."

"Erik…"

He slowly backed away from Hannah, eyes darting around the room. "Erik must pay for his sin. Erik must pay for the bad thoughts he had. Bad Erik. Bad bad Erik…" His eyes rested upon the kitchen. "Yes, that's where Madame must keep her knife, no? Erik must get it. Erik must rid himself before he attempts to harm another person…"

"Erik, no!" Hannah wept. Erik's mentality must have cracked severely by the gypsies. And from women. _Damn you Madeleine. Damn you and your words that will forevermore hurt your own flesh and blood._

Somehow, Hannah's words reached Erik. Regaining his senses, he shook his head. _What a bizarre dream. Why is Erik heading towards the kitchen?_ He turned around, back to Hannah. Seeing her weep brought him back to their recent conversation. "Madame…"

"Erik? Are you fine now?" Hannah hastily wiped her tears away with her sleeve.

"Eri—I think so."

"Well, here's your mask."

Finally curious to its content, Erik opened the bag. Withdrawing his hand, he found his arm clutching onto a black _barbe du masque_. He turned back to Hannah, mouth moving, but words not coming out.

"You're welcome, Erik. Under one condition though; do not wear the mask in this house. All right?"

Erik nodded.

"Good, now try it on." Erik had great difficulty slipping the mask onto his face. His left hand could only do so many activities at once. "Here, let me help you if you stand up."

Erik obeyed. Hannah adjusted the mask onto Erik's face, frowning at him as she did so.

"I _really_ do not like this mask. Really, Erik, do not wear this at home."

XXXX

"My god, poor old Hannah."

"Why does she bother with a being like that?"

"What on Earth is she doing with a shady person?"

"What was she thinking?"

Erik's grip on her hand tightened. Despite the mask, people still viewed Erik as a different entity, almost as if his face was what was being shown. _At least now, people will think I am just crazy and not as a deformed freak._

Hannah sighed. They just left Monsieur Rainer's market, the bags of meat and vegetables hanging from Erik's arm, while Hannah carried Erik's new clothes in her other hand. The walk to Rainer's was torture to her and Erik. God, these people were so prejudiced to a little boy wearing a full-blown mask. _How did humanity come to this,_ she thought sadly.

If only everyone realized that everyone was wearing a mask of their own.

"Eri—I told you, Madame. No one would want Erik. All people do is point and murmur unspeakable things to Erik." His voice was low, and contained a hint of sorrow. Hannah instantly gripped tighter on Erik's hand, mentally supporting him. Erik looked at her and smiled shyly.

"Do not fret, Erik. I am here. As long as I am here, no one will harm you…"

"Hey FREAK!" A small rock landed squarely onto Erik's forehead, and he instinctively released his hand from Hannah's to recoil in pain. The groceries splattered out on the street, but Erik and Hannah paid no mind to them. A group of children, around Erik's age but of lesser social standing, was starting to crowd around them.

How Hannah wished she could take her words back.

More pebbles and rocks rained down on him, all landing on Erik, none touching Hannah. Hannah couldn't do anything, frozen in fear as her reassuring words turned out false. She just stood there helplessly as Erik was reduced to a curled ball on the gravel road.

"Why don't you just show us your face, huh?"

"Show it to us!"

"You don't belong in this society!"

"You belong in a cage!"

"No… no…" Erik whimpered silently. Each rock hurt his already aching body, his face starting to bleed where the first sharp rock had hit his forehead. The children were now approaching him, sticks and wooden planks in their arms.

"Time to get our prize." This was going too much. Her mind flashed back to Madeleine. Seeing another wooden plank snapped Hannah into action.

"NO!" Hannah shoved the children aside, using her body as a shield from Erik. "YOU WILL NOT DO ANY HARM TO MY LITTLE BOY!" Her eyes flashed in anger and the words were basically spat out.

"Oh crap…"

"She snapped out of it…"

"Let's run!" The children disbanded, retreating to the alleys of the city.

Huffing due to her exertion of the voice, Hannah slowly turned back to Erik, still sobbing in his little ball. She decided to wait for a couple of minutes so Erik would calm down. "Erik…"

"Go away… Let Erik die here alone…"

"But Er—"

"Don't you see, Madame!" Erik shouted out, "don't you see what people do to Erik?! All they do is take and take! They don't give anything back to Erik! They take and take and take, and Erik is always left alone! An empty shell that people tear apart and look at further! Erik can't take it anymore…" he went back to crying.

"Well then, Erik, what do you suppose I should do?"

"Let Erik die alone. Here."

"And what if I don't?"

Erik looked up from his arm. "Take Erik somewhere where the world will never find him."

"Oh Erik…"

"What is going on here?" a cold voice cut through the air. A voice demanding total loyalty.

Hannah turned around. Antoinette Giry stood, regal as a queen, looking at Hannah and Erik oddly.

"I…"

* * *

 _Barbe du Masque-_ Look up rumpelstiltskinned's "The Opera Ghost" on Deviantart. She did research on what Erik's mask should've looked like back then. I decided that Erik would wear this type of mask in his youth, and then the one everyone is familiar with for his adult life.

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

Reviews and comments are welcomed.


	11. Ch 10: Henri and the Opéra

**Chapter 10: Henri and the Opéra**

 _30 December 1863_

"I…"

"Do hurry, Hannah." Antoinette turned to Erik's figure. "Hello there, child," she said in a slightly warmer voice.

Erik flinched. Never had he heard a voice so stern… yet broken at the same time. Judging by her posture, her cane, and the French knot her hair was in, he assumed that the Madame had once been a dancer of sorts, before pregnancy set in.

 _Where has Erik seen her before…?_

Mistaking Erik's silence for rejection, Antoinette faced Hannah.

"Really now, Hannah, what did you do to him?"

"Did you not see those children?"

"Yes, I saw them just as well as you did, I can assure you." She looked at Hannah disapprovingly. "You chose not to do anything initially. Rather than to defend him automatically such as what you just did so when there about to _beat_ him, you chose to instead stand back and watch. Why-" she looked into Hannah's pale face. "It's almost as if just watching him suffer causes you to suffer as well."

"You have no idea," she whispered softly. "Erik's poor excuse of a mother wasn't kind to me either, even before he was born…"

"How so?"

"For starters, she was always cranky. She never seemed satisfied with what I was able to do."

 _Who is Madame Hannah talking about? Erik must wait. And who is the other Madame who speaks to her as a friend? Why is it that Erik can actually picture a face associated with her…?_

Slowly, the fog cleared from his mind, exposing to him the events surrounding the night of the gypsies.

 _She's the one who looked at me with pity but did no such thing,_ he thought sulkily. _Why is she here, to get another glimpse of the pitiful creature from Hell?_

And then, his mind drifted further onto the day… the beatings… Monsieur Gustave… and worst of all…

Erik released a choked sob. Both ladies snapped to his attention. He was beginning to shiver again, desperately tightening the curl he was in. "No… don't touch Erik… don't do this to me…"

Antoinette was in shock. "What happened to him?"

Hannah replied quietly, not looking at Antoinette in the eyes, "this happens many times. He'll hear something that will remind him of his past, and then he begins to shut down, to retract to the very depths of his sanity."

Antoinette looked on at Erik. "Poor thing," she finally mustered.

Screams of anguish and pain followed. Tears were streaming down Erik's face as he begged at a non-existent man for mercy. Pedestrians, hearing the commotion, began to crowd around him. Seeing the crowds, Hannah panicked.

"Oh for lord's sake! Crowds are the last thing he needs!" Hannah hissed at Antoinette. "Do something about them! I'll try and get him to come back to his senses."

Antoinette nodded. Stamping her cane, she barked out, "What are you doing? Scram. This is not of your concern." Murmuring, the crowd dispersed.

By the last person's departure, with Hannah's coaxing, Erik had calmed down significantly enough to stand up.

Without looking at Antoinette, he muttered, "Bonjour, Madame."

 _Finally. He is opening up._ "Good morning, my name is Antoinette Giry, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Erik." Erik jerked his head upwards. "Madame Hannah told me all about you."

Erik nodded once more. Dazed from his tears, he looked around. The groceries he dropped when the other children started attacking him were spoiled. He looked at Hannah desperately.

"Erik is sorry, Madame! Erik did not mean to drop the groceries!" he cried out. "Don't hurt Erik, please don't hurt Erik…"

"Why would I hurt you, Erik?" she placed her right hand on Erik's shoulder gently. She did not notice his flinch at that notion. "I'd rather you drop the bags and protect yourself from harm as much as possible, than to see you any more injured than you are. Besides, we can always reorder them."

"Re-really?" Erik sniffed. His lack of a nose had ruined his mask.

"Really."

He wiped his tears from the mask. Facing Antoinette, he asked, "wh-where are you going today, Madame Giry?"

Hannah frowned, realization kicking. "True, where are you going to today? Certainly not the opera house! You're pregnant; you have no need to go there."

"Ah, but I must support myself," Antoinette grimly replied. "I still have my own flat to pay. Just because I am pregnant does not mean that I should just lie around waiting to give birth. No, I can still instruct. I don't have to dance to teach other ballet girls the art of ballet."

"Opera?" Erik's eyes widened in obvious excitement. Why, even he was not so sure. "Can Erik please come? Madame Hannah, may Erik please go to the Opera?"

How could she say no to such innocent eyes? "Of course. But only after we repurchase the groceries."

"Of course."

XXXX

By the time Hannah and Erik returned back home with the newly purchased groceries, Erik was behaving like the child Hannah once knew eight years ago.

"Erik can't wait to go to the opera!" he jumped up and down excitedly as Hannah stored the very last of the groceries. His mask, snot, dried tears and all, lay on the counter. "Oh, please hurry, Madame! We must not waste any time! Madame Giry must be there waiting for us!"

Hannah sighed. She had long wished for Erik to show more of his childlike personality; now, Hannah wished for him to grow up and mature a little. "Just a little while longer, Erik. Don't you want to eat lunch first?"

Erik shook his head. "No thanks, Madame. Erik is just fine. I don't have to eat much."

"Well, at least let me eat lunch then!" she playfully scolded.

Erik however did not take the playful intentions of her scolding. He stopped jumping and slouched, head down, entire demeanor changing for the worst. "Er-erik is sorry Madame," he whispered. "Erik won't bother Madame again." He ran to his room and slammed the door shut.

 _Oh no. What have I done? Erik has only just opened up to me this morning. Why do I always do this to him?_ Hannah slowly made her way to Erik's room. She could hear faint cries seeping from the closed door. She knocked gently.

"Erik, you know I was just messing around," she said softly. "I apologize if I sounded mean."

No response.

"Please Erik, please open up!" Hannah hand trailed down the length of the door, stopping when it was physically impossible to trace further without bending down. By the end of her motion, the lock shifted, and the door cracked opened. Erik peered from the gap, unmasked face still wet.

"Truly?" he gasped. Hannah nodded. He pulled the door completely open.

"Truly." Hannah smiled despite what just happened, and held her arm out. "I still insist that you eat though, Erik."

Erik once again shook his head. "No Madame. Erik is still not used to eating a lot… Erik rather not eat in fear of reopening his wounds either."

Why had she not thought of that before? Hannah shook her head mentally in anger towards herself. She should have known, even though in the past, Erik always recovered at a faster pace than most children of his age. At least, that was how fast he recovered when he was three. Now, however… "Very well then, Erik. But still, at least let me eat."

Erik looked at her suspiciously, searching her eyes for any sign of deception or anger. He found none. Reluctantly, he stepped out and accepted her arm. "Okay, Madame."

XXXX

"So this is the opera?" Erik's eyes wandered around huge theater, taking in every detail on the stage.

"Yes, Erik. This is the opera. This is where you can hear people sing and dance. In fact, this is where I work as well. And Gustave."

"Erik has heard of opera before!" he said excitedly. However, his excitement, as quickly as it had come, also quickly faded away. "Those people who came to Erik's cage sometimes say that opera was more worthy of their money. And Master will always whip Erik whenever he hears them say that…" He shook involuntarily and eyed the red carpet beneath his feet.

 _Poor Erik, always haunted by his memories._ She squeezed their interlaced hands reassuringly. "I'm right here for you, Erik. If you ever feel alone and unwanted, know that Gustave and I will always be there for you."

"Always?" he whispered. Hannah nodded. Erik's demeanor finally reverted back to his cheerful, excited self. "When will we see a performance, Madame?"

Hannah laughed. "Not until this evening, unfortunately, Erik." She looked at Erik. "Sometimes, there are performances in the afternoon, but most of the time it is late at night. It gives the performers a chance to rest and practice for the opera."

"That makes sense," he agreed. Erik tugged on Hannah's hand. "May we please continue exploring, Madame? Erik wants to see the entire building!"

"Sure, Erik." They rather quickly made their way to the backstage, where many ballerinas were practicing their routine for the latest opera, _Faust._ Seeing the two appear, Madame Giry halted practice with two stamps of her cane.

"Ah, Hannah!" Madame Giry made her way towards the two. "So you finally made it."

"Yes, Antoinette. Erik here basically dragged me to the opera." She gestured towards Erik, still clinging tightly to her arm. Erik did not seem to notice Madame Giry; rather, he was focused on the wallpaper and the décor that lined the walls.

"So… have you heard any word on Josef Braun?" Antoinette asked Hannah. "Does Gustave or Louis Mifroid have any new leads to that murderer?"

"Unfortunately not, Antoinette," Hannah fidgeted with her clasp of the cloak. "At least, not about Josef Braun's whereabouts. However, we do know that he is somehow connected with Oskar Ekwall."

"Ekwall?"

"The man who murdered Gustave's parents and took his family's fortune."

"Ah." Madame Giry didn't know what to say. This case was getting even more complicated than expected.

It was dreadful, indeed. Antoinette had not known about Henri's troubled past. She didn't know the reasoning behind Henri's status as an orphan.

For his parents were murdered by Josef Braun.

Yet somehow, Henri was not present at the time of the event. He was at school, away from the violence, away from the man that took his parents' lives.

And because he was so young at his parents' deaths, he was not heavily affected by their passing. In response to the murder, Henri was placed under tight supervision. As the last remaining member of the Giry family, and due to Josef Braun's unwise actions, his parents' wills left their fortune to Henri.

For years, Henri was oblivious to his status, unaware of the impeding danger. When he turned 21 however, a lawyer finally delivered his parents' will, along with official death certificates and an aged newspaper clipping detailing their deaths. He vowed to track down and bring Josef Braun to justice. The money entitled upon him, he chose not to use. To Antoinette, he said _'In the event of a tragedy, my Nettie.'_ How true his words turned out to be.

Merely 4 months ago, Gustave and Henri finally found a lead to Josef Braun's whereabouts. They were secretly tracking him down, following him from the shadows in the outskirts of Paris, when he suddenly turned around and fired at them. Gustave luckily was not hit, but Henri was not too fortunate, being hit with five bullets to his chest, all puncturing an organ in some way. In the chaos that ensued, Braun fled, and Gustave rushed to bring Henri Giry to the hospital.

Henri died in his wife's arms, living just long enough to see her once more. His dying wish was for Josef Braun to be brought to justice.

A majority of his parents' money was used to cover his funeral. Antoinette, once cheerful and upbeat, turned cold, stern, and unfeeling. The death of her husband of 15 years and close friend of a lifetime.

It truly was a surprise that Antoinette found sympathy for little Erik indeed. A breakthrough from her frozen heart.

Tears had begun to form on Antoinette's eyes. They slowly trickled down her greatly aged face, tears that had not been released since his death.

Erik finally noticed Madame Giry's presence and tears. Slowly, his eyes made eye contact with the worn face.

"Are… are you alright, Madame Giry?"

She nodded.

"You're still mourning the loss of your husband, non?"

Antoinette was taken back by his statement. _How did he know about that? Not once have I mentioned Henri in front of him._ "H-how did you know, Erik?"

Erik grimaced. "Your face is just like those people who mourn daily. Your posture is very stiff, yet at times it seems like you want nothing more but to collapse. And you are pregnant. Certainly, you must be mourning your husband."

 _Well, what a talented boy indeed._ "Well then, perhaps I am finally mourning him and accepting his death," she finally replied shakily.

Something must have come across Erik's mind, as his eyes gained a faraway look. "Mother… mother always seemed cold and distant herself…" he finally whispered.

Hannah looked at Erik incredulously. This was the very first mention of Erik and his mother since that night. _Are his memories finally coming back?_

"Madame, don't let your grief take you over," he begged Madame Giry. "Don't treat her like she did to me…"

"I won't."

"What's all the commotion about?"

Antoinette turned around, startled by the voice. Hannah and Gustave leaned sideways to get a glimpse of the incomer. Gustave Daaé approached the trio, violin in one hand, sheet music in the other.

"Really now, Annie, you must attend to your dancers. They are doing nothing but lounging about and wasting valuable time."

"A-ah. Yes. Right. Well, good day Hannah. You too, Erik." She practically marched into one of the practice rooms. Barks of orders could be heard coming from the room. Hannah, Erik, and Gustave stood, watching one another, not making a move.

"Well, Erik, how did you like the opera?" he finally said.

"It's great, Monsieur!" Erik let go of Hannah's hand and ran up to hug Gustave. "But Erik wants to see more though. I want to see a performance!"

"Very well then," Gustave chuckled. "A performance you'll see tonight. Although I must ask that you sit next to me in the orchestra and not make a sound, alright? We must not ruin a production by making any unnecessary noises."

"I will, Monsieur! Thank you!" Erik winced slightly as his right hand, still in bandages, wrapped itself around Gustave's waist.

Meanwhile, Hannah looked on at this father-son-like moment with envy in her eyes. _Why won't he love me as he loves Gustave?_

XXXX

"Hannah? I'm back."

Slowly, he pushed the front door open. It was hard enough to do so with one hand carrying his violin case, but to also carry the sleeping Erik in his other hand (or rather, entire right shoulder and arm) was a different level. The boy had fallen asleep while they were walking home from the Opera.

 _This is just like that night. Except this time, he's so happy and content._ Indeed, he could hear the boy's soft snores as he slowly made his way to Erik's bedroom, being careful not to wake him up. Gently, he laid the sleeping boy down onto the mattress and tucked him in. He slowly removed the full mask Erik had on. "Good night, sonny." He crept out of the room.

Setting his case down as he entered their bedroom, Gustave noticed that Hannah was already in bed, reading _Les Misérables._ "Is something wrong, Hannah?" He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Hannah for any change in expression.

"Nothing, Gustave. It's just that… I still wish that Erik would somehow remember me. He seems to be intentionally avoiding me, and he never fully trusts me. You, on the other hand… he takes you for granted. Did you see how he willingly hugged you? I have not been able to touch him much without him at least recoiling or flinching."

Gustave cupped her face between his tired hands. "Hannah, don't give up. He'll come about eventually."

Her hands reached up to touch his. "I know, Gustave. Eventually, may it be tomorrow or when I die."

"Speaking of tomorrow, Hannah, do you plan on attending the New Year's masquerade?"

"The masquerade? Probably not. I am starting to feel tired lately. It seems odd. Each day I feel slightly weaker…"

"Oh Hannah…" he brought his hands, still within her hands' embrace, down to her chest. "What will I do without you?"

* * *

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

Reviews and comments are welcomed.


	12. Ch 11: New Year's Eve

**Chapter 11: New Year's Eve**

 _31 December 1863_

"Erik, would you like to attend the ball at the opera this evening?"

"Monsieur?" Erik looked up at Gustave's face, surprise written all over his unmasked one. "Surely Monsieur has not forgotten Erik's face?"

"No, I have not, Erik." He placed his violin down as Erik watched his every movement. Gustave had spent the past hour idly playing on his violin, when Erik decided to join him by watching his fingers move with the strings. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he continued, "It's a masquerade ball, Erik. Everyone will be wearing a mask."

"Oh." Erik instinctively began tapping his fingers on the chair he was sitting on. "Erik… is still afraid though."

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid… that someone will find out in some way. Or that someone else would try to hurt Erik. Madame's words were not enough. She promised to protect me, but all that happened was exactly opposite of what she promised."

"Erik…" he pulled the agitated boy towards him.

" _No more talk of darkness,_

 _Forget your wild eyed fears,_

 _I'm here, with you, beside you,_

 _To guard you and guide you._

 _Let me be your shelter, let me be your light,_

 _You're safe, no one will find you,_

 _Your fears are far behind you…_

 _Let me lead you from your solitude, Erik."_

Erik buried his face into Gustave's shirt. "Erik forgot. Madame is pregnant. Of course she can't do anything to help Erik."

Gustave stroked his dark brown hair softly. "That's what I am for, Erik. A man always protects the ones he loves." Erik nodded. "As long as Monsieur is here, I will not be afraid."

Silence followed after the short conversation. "Monsieur," Erik finally began. "Could you play something on your violin again? It sounds very beautiful…"

"Of course." He picked up the violin, watching the eager boy from the corner of his eye. Erik was staring intently on the violin's personal engravings and designs of roses and ribbons, which (Gustave thought proudly,) he had designed and etched himself. "What would you like me to play, Erik?"

"Can Monsieur play Canon in D? The one by Pachelbel?"

"How do you know of that piece?"

"Uh…" Erik shuffled his left foot guiltily. "Erik has been looking at Gustave's papers," he finally confessed. "Erik has read all of the books, and Erik had nothing left to do…"

Gustave paled. If Erik had been looking through _his_ papers, he possibly could've seen the report papers from the office… the ones about the "missing freak."

"Erik… what else have you seen… in my office?"

"S-sir?" Erik looked at Gustave, his head cocked to the side in confusion. "Er- I merely looked at your bookshelves. I found that piece in one of your music folders upon the shelf." He looked down. "Erik is sorry for entering Monsieur's room without permission."

 _So he has not seen my desk. Thank god._ The color returned onto his face upon realizing that Erik was still oblivious to the scandal surrounding him. "It's all right, my boy," he placed the bow down so as to hug Erik. "I just worry that you might find something that will harm you within my office."

"Like what, Monsieur?"

Gustave smiled, picking up the bow. "Some things are best left unknown, Erik."

Erik eyed Gustave nervously. "What do you mean by that, Monsieur?"

"Nothing… nothing…"

"Aw… do tell Erik, please!"

"Erik, maybe when you are an older boy and understand more of the world."

Erik frowned, withdrawing from Gustave. "But Erik already knows a lot about the world. And Erik is not a little boy... that man did not treat Erik as one. No, no, Erik is much below that, Erik is a beast…"

Instinctively, Gustave dropped the bow and embraced Erik. "You are not a beast of any sort, Erik," he said softly. "That man is dead, Erik. He will not come back to get you. Not him, at least."

Erik looked up at Gustave's eyes. "H… how can you be so sure, Monsieur?"

His eyes darkened as a bleak expression replaced his comforting demeanor. Releasing Erik and standing up, he trembled, "I… I…"

Erik continued looking at him with pleading eyes. Gustave didn't know how to put the words out for him. Part of him feared that Erik would lose his trust on him, or worse expose the crime to all of Paris to hear. But why was he afraid of that possibility? _Erik would never be able to tell anyone. At least not until they've accepted his face. And so far, only Antoinette, Hannah, and I have done so._ And yet, he still feared Erik's reaction. What would he do upon hearing it? Scream? Call him a murderer? Shun him? Gustave couldn't bear the possibilities.

"I killed him," he finally said hollowly, bowing his head down in defeat. His hands hung uselessly at his sides, eyes not daring to make eye contact with Erik.

Erik did not react at those words. Or rather, he slowly got up and shuffled himself closer to Gustave, tightly hugging him. "Why?" Erik whispered lightly. He knew that the death of that man meant he would never threaten him again, but…

How could people call this boy the devil when he has an untainted heart of gold? Gustave felt tears welling up in his eyes as he accepted Erik's hug. "He… he would not listen to reason. He tried to hurt you even more while you were unconscious. Heck, he tried to kill me as well. What was I to do…?" All of Gustave's doubts washed away when Erik once again buried his head into Gustave's chest.

"Er… I have never known anyone who would do anything for me…" he whispered as tears began to stream out of his own eyes.

"Erik…" Gustave's arms were shaking around Erik's (still bandaged) back. He could not believe that Erik, out of everyone, was the one to relieve Gustave of the guilt of murder.

"Will you play for me now?" Erik looked up, willing Gustave to let this vulnerable minute pass by for both of them.

Gaining composure and wiping away Erik's and his tears with his sleeves, he smiled and replied, "Of course."

XXXX

"Are you sure you don't want to pick costumes with us?"

"Gustave, I'm not sure if I can."

"Why not?"

"I think I'm coming down with something…"

Gustave was at lost for though. "Would you like it if I sent for a doctor?"

Hannah shook her head. "No, I think I'll be fine."

Not satisfied with her predicament, he reasoned, "Shall I send Louis Mifroid to your assistance? In the event that something happens while Erik and I are gone." There was no one Gustave trusted more than Louis.

"Yes, that will be helpful," Hannah smiled weakly.

"I'll go get him then. Take care, Hannah." They shared a passionate kiss before Gustave left their bedroom. Closing the door behind him, he began to search for Erik. "Erik? Are you ready to leave?"

"Monsieur?" the voice seemed to echo from the living room. _Did he really not leave the room as I thought he did?_ He entered and stood in the center of the room, looking around for the boy. He found no one.

"Erik, where are you?"

"Here, Monsieur!" the voice sounded so close, as if… Erik was right behind Gustave. Gustave turned around and saw nobody.

"Seriously, Erik, where are you? You are certainly not in visible sight, so please come on out?"

"Monsieur…" this time, the voice sounded far off, distant. Gustave frowned. _Wasn't the boy just in the living room…?_ He walked to the hallway. "Erik…?"

Erik poked his head from the half-open bathroom door, full mask on. "Monsieur? Yes, Erik is ready to leave." He stared at Gustave for a moment further, and then added, "So a Monsieur Mifroid is also coming over."

Gustave paled. _How did I not notice Erik was inside the bathroom the entire time?_ "When… when did you enter the bathroom, Erik?"

Erik fumbled with his feet. "Erik followed Monsieur when he went to talk to Madame," he confessed. "I wanted to hear what you were going to say, but Erik knew you wouldn't approve, so Erik hid in here…"

"So you heard everything Madame Hannah and I said."

"Erik—I—yes, Monsieur." He hung his head down in shame. "Please don't hurt Erik."

"Why would I hurt you, Erik?" he placed both hands on the boy's shoulders gently. "Although, I must say that I'm impressed. Even with my excellent ear, I did not hear you follow me. How did you do so?" Pausing slightly, he added, "and how did you make your voice seem so far?"

Erik grinned sheepishly behind his mask. "Practice, Monsieur. Erik can throw his voice because it is one of the many things Erik learned from those… _people_." His eyes darkened, but lightened just as quickly when he realized that he was not in a cage.

"Hm… very well then. Come, now, Erik." He withdrew both hands from Erik's shoulder, then offered his right one to Erik. He accepted and they began walking to the front door. "We must stop by Monsieur Louis first though. That is fine with you, non?"

"Um…" Erik stopped walking. "Has he seen Erik before?" he whispered. "Erik has seen so many other officers… has Monsieur Louis looked upon…" his left hand reached up to his mask shakily.

"No Erik, he has not." He looked at Erik. "He's a kind soul, don't worry. He too has a facial deformity, albeit its quite unnatural."

"Really?" Erik's eyes shone hopefully. "Monsieur Mifroid will accept me?"

"I'm sure he will," he replied gently.

With renewed energy, Gustave and Erik exited the house hand-in-hand. Not even the stares by Gustave's neighbors deterred their mood. Within minutes, they arrived at Louis Mifroid's flat. Gustave knocked on the door softly.

"Who is it?" his tired voice seeped through the door.

"It's Gustave."

Louis opened the door slowly as Gustave and Erik took in Louis's tired appearance. Erik in particular, couldn't help but stare at the nasty scar—from the temple just in front of the ear to just above the left eyebrow—and his eyes. The emerald eyes with flecks of amber. Erik unconsciously reached up to his own eyes. _The same eye color as me…_

Louis, too, was eyeing the boy curiously. It was as if he were staring into a younger version of himself. True, he could only see the boy's eyes and hair, but besides that, his very physical build was remarkably similar. "Ah, you must be Erik, the boy Gustave told me about," he said coolly, trying to maintain a distance from the boy, which, he felt, he was getting attached to each second.

"A-a-, Oui, Monsieur," the boy stammered back. Gustave gripped Erik's hand.

"Ah, yes, Louis, may I—"

"What exactly do you want from me, Gustave? Please get to the point. Today is supposed to be my day off, non?"

Erik curiously looked at the agitated man's face. His brow had creased and his mouth formed a scowl, and his eyes… turned to a shade of amber. _The exact same shade as mine…_ Erik was confused. Why was he _not_ afraid of this man, who, for good measure, has a temper?

Gustave refused to back down to Louis's temper. Although very rare, whenever Louis's temper exploded, no one in the office would dare approach him in fear of retribution. Gustave, however, was rather used to it. Why would he not, one of the very few friends Louis has? "I was hoping that perhaps you would like to, ah, um… keep my wife company while Erik and I went to go purchase costumes for the ball tonight," he replied boldly.

"And what makes you think I'd like to do that?" Louis snarled, hands now forming fists. Erik continued to watch the two, feeling uncomfortable each minute. Unconsciously, he began tapping his left foot at an upbeat tempo while slowly trying to maneuver his injured right arm.

At the same time, Louis too began tapping his left foot impatiently. "Why would I devote my time to your family? Hmm?" He leered at Gustave.

"Because that's what friends do, non? Besides, I believe you still owe me a favor…"

"What favor?" he snapped. "Just because you prevented an accident—"

"Which could have resulted to the end of your life," Gustave countered.

Louis grew redder. "Just because someone aimed a gun at my back without me noticing and you arresting him does _not_ make me in your debt! Christ, that was our assignment that day, non? To catch that guy? Our lives mean little if it means to wipe out crime, for god's sake!"

"That doesn't help the fact that I have saved your life," he pointed out.

Defeated, Louis shrunk back, brow giving in and raising his hands in surrender. "Fine, I'll keep an eye on Hannah," he begrudgingly replied. Gustave smiled and patted Louis on the shoulder.

"Come on, you old fool. I know you don't have anything to do today, non?"

Louis sighed. "I suppose you're right. I just wanted to have some quiet time at my _house_." He looked at Erik, then at his feet. They were tapping relatively in sync.

"Boy," he began.

Louis's eyes returned back to their emerald color as Erik heard him call for his attention. He snapped out of his gaze.

"M-monsieur?" Both stopped tapping their feet.

"Monsieur Gustave has been taking good care of you, non?"

"Oui, Monsieur!" Erik grinned beneath his mask.

"Very good." Louis paused, looking at Erik expectantly. Then he turned to Gustave. "I won't do it unless I see Erik's face."

At those words, Erik's grip on Gustave's hand tightened as he shut his eyes and whimpered. Gustave looked at Louis, shocked by his words. "W-why would you request that?"

"I would like to see what those people were so terrified about. But, I also…" he couldn't bring himself to say it. He wanted to see if the boy shared _his_ jawline, _his_ chin, _his_ facial profile. Why? Louis didn't know himself.

"Why else would you want to see the boy's face?" Gustave brought the shaking boy into his arms and hugged him protectively. "You know he's already been through hell in that awful gypsy camp, he's still scared of what people think of him beneath the mask. The only reason why we're going to the ball tonight is for Erik to see the positive sides of society." They began to slowly back away.

"No… no… stop! Do hear me out!" Louis reached out to grab Gustave's retreating form.

"And what exactly is your reasoning then?" Gustave stopped his retreat.

"I… I…" _Come on, Louis. You can do this…_ "I want to see if he shares the same features as I do," Louis whispered.

Gustave was astonished. Erik stopped shaking and turned around to face Louis.

"M-monsieur Louis? W-why do you want to see Erik's face again?" he couldn't believe the man's words.

"I… I want to see why people are so afraid of you, and also perhaps see if we shared anything else in common." He paused, then added, "I swear on my honor that I won't do anything." He motioned for the two to enter his house for privacy, closing the door behind them.

Hesitantly, Erik fumbled with the strings on his mask. _Why am I doing this? Erik should not reveal his face to anyone, why is Erik doing this for him?_ Perhaps he felt a great attachment to Louis, but he slowly removed the mask and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable scream to follow.

Louis looked upon the ravaged face with great interest as Gustave stood by Erik, daring him to do anything that would hurt Erik. That opportunity never came. Taking little notice of the details to the disfigurement, Louis gently traced the boy's jaw and chin… his skin was cold to touch. _All just like mine…_

"You're just like me," he breathed.

And it was true. Gustave turned and looked at the two, Erik finally opening his eyes in disbelief. Gustave could see the resemblance quite clearly now. An overall gaunt figure, dark brown hair (and, for good measure, naturally slicked back), prominent cheekbones (although Erik's were noticeably heavily exaggerated due to his condition), similar eye color, their body temperature (Gustave had to admit that holding both of their hands was undeniably unnerving)… Gustave wouldn't be surprised if Erik eventually became a spitting image of Louis.

"What are the odds, what are the odds…" Louis began pacing back and forth frantically, hands wringing in his own hair. Erik stood motionless and confused as Louis began letting out his stream of thought. "He looks like me so! He seems unearthly, yet so beautiful… And!" He paused and looked at Erik. "How old are you?"

"Uh- nine, Monsieur." He was still in shock for being called 'beautiful'. A first.

"He's only nine years old!" he resumed pacing.

"Louis… you don't think that you're Erik's father, non?"

"Of course not! It's just…"

"Surprising that you look like Erik?" Louis stopped pacing and faced Gustave. He nodded slightly.

"Perhaps you are merely kindred spirits, or you came from the same town." Gustave watched as Erik steadily replaced his mask. "You're going to watch over Hannah, non?"

"Of course I will." Louis deflated and followed the two out of his house. "A man always keeps his promise…"

XXXX

"Are you sure you want this set of costumes?" Gustave eyed the clothes Erik held in his left hand. A blood red evening suit, complete with a matching cape and yellowed skull mask.

"It fits Erik, non?" Erik sulked. "What better way to show up at a masquerade than to dress as the Red Death himself?"

"Erik," Gustave said exasperatedly. "You are certainly going to be the death of me one day."

XXXX

"So this is a masquerade?" Erik's eyes widened beneath the skull mask, which conveniently fit his small face perfectly. The decorations, the people waltzing, the music…

It was all too much for Erik to bear.

Gustave squeezed his hand. "Yes, Erik. As you can see, everyone is wearing a mask." He pointed at himself. "Even I am." On his face was a funny blackbird mask. Erik giggled at the sight of it.

" _The waltz that weighs and swings us around the room,_

 _It is so carefree, 'tis almost a dream!_

 _The rhythm is bewitching and the dance imploringly…"_

The melody echoed around the dancehall, overwhelming Erik. Gustave and Erik stood upon the balcony, looking down at the people waltzing and dancing, socializing and eating, laughing…

" _It twists us so virtuously, two, three go!"_

Erik had no idea how much time passed as Gustave dragged Erik in order to introduce Erik as his apprentice to his fellow off-duty co-workers in the orchestra. Erik numbly nodded at every person's greetings as the melody wrapped itself in his head.

" _We keep balance closely, so intertwined,_

 _We stagger, floating, circling, almost in a trance…"_

"Erik?"

Erik couldn't help but join in to the song, his angelic voice low but still heard throughout the hall.

" _Forget the minutes of past time,_

 _We now withdraw our paths, just the two…_

 _The turn is ecstatic! And the momentum emphatically,_

 _We swirl strange, two three go…"_

The current orchestra died down as the dancers looked around, confused as to where the source of such sweet voice came from. Erik, realizing where he was at the last note, shook his head frantically and squeezed Gustave's hand tighter. Gustave did not notice this motion and continued in his conversation with the cello player.

With most people shrugging in defeat for the voice, they resumed dancing and playing music.

It wasn't until the countdown that Gustave finally realized that they should leave. Now.

"12!"

"Erik! Erik, where are you?" he searched frantically through the crowds, for somehow he had lost track of Erik.

"11!"

"Monsieur?" the small voice came from a shadowed balcony. Amber eyes shone in the shadow.

"10!"

"Hurry! We must leave before the stroke of 12 before we are all unmasked!"

"9! 8!"

Erik jumped off the balcony into Gustave's open arms. Setting Erik down and grabbing his hand, they ran to the doors.

"7!"

"What were you doing up there, Erik?"

"6!"

"Erik… I didn't want to bother Monsieur with his presence."

"5!"

"You're not a bother, Erik. You never told me you left though."

"4!"

"Erik did, Monsieur! But Monsieur was too busy talking to the clarinet player."

"3! 2!"

Gustave forced the heavy door open and pushed Erik out first. "1!" Gustave followed suit. The door slammed shut behind them as the entire opera house exploded in a "Happy New Year!"

Their backs against the door and panting heavily, Gustave turned to face Erik.

"That was fun, Monsieur!" Erik's eyes shone, pulse racing. "We should do it again!"

"No… never… we are not doing this again…" Gustave took off his mask and clenched his pounding heart, taking deep breaths, regretting the masquerade.

"Aw… it was fun. And beautiful."

They slowly walked down the empty streets back to the flat. Louis opened the door to greet the disheveled two.

Louis grinned. "Seems like you two had a wild time, non?" Erik nodded eagerly, Gustave more or less growling something incomprehensive. "Hannah's sleeping right now." He exited the house as they entered it. "Well, Happy New Year you two." He waved his hand and left.

* * *

Welp, seems like my word count keeps increasing with each chapter.

Louis Mifroid is an original character from Leroux's version of _The Phantom of the Opera._ He was the lead investigator during Christine's kidnapping.

Snippets of "All I Ask of You" by Andrew Lloyd Webber are used during the Gustave/Erik moment in the beginning.

Modified direct English translation of "Der Ball" from "Rudolf: Affaire Mayerling" is used during the Masquerade.

Canon in D by Johann Pachelbel is mentioned. Canon was written in the 1680s, but was not officially published until 1919 by German scholar Gustav Beckmann. For this fic's sake, reality is warped here.

To a reviewer: I truly have nothing against the Romani people; and it's not just the Romani who receive prejudice in modern times—many other ethnic groups still receive the same prejudice and are portrayed as harmful stereotypes the same was as way back then.

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

Any other reviews and comments are welcomed.


	13. Ch 12: The Heart of an Artist

School was canceled yesterday due to severe weather in Southeast USA, so I had the chance to complete this chapter early.

 **Chapter 12: The Heart of an Artist**

 _23 January 1864_

"I'm pretty sure that your right hand is completely healed now." Gustave smiled as he tore away the very last bandages that had for so long restrained Erik's movement.

"Really, Oncle?" Erik cautiously flexed his right hand, testing each joint. He still eyed the long scars that ran down the length of his arm with a distant sadness.

"Yes, I believe so." He handed Erik back his dress shirt. Erik quickly replaced his shirt, buttoning the buttons clumsily as he did so.

"Oncle?"

"Yes Erik?"

Erik fumbled with his words, unsure how to say them. "May I please play on your violin?" he finally mustered out.

Gustave froze, uncertain whether or not he heard the words correctly. Noticing Gustave's posture, Erik looked down.

"Erik has handled Oncle's violin before. It does not have any dents or scratches…"

"You…you've touched my violin before?" Gustave was shocked by this revelation. He neither noticed any music playing at his home nor did he notice any movement with his violin case.

"I… I… I played with it while you were on duty," Erik stammered.

"ERIK!" Gustave roared, standing at full height, pointing an accusatory finger at Erik. Erik shrunk back, surprised and frightened; never had he seen Gustave this angry before. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY VIOLIN? IS THAT WHY I ALWAYS FIND YOU IN MY STUDY? ANSWER ME!"

"P-please don't get mad at Erik. I-I really did not leave any marks on the violin. I-I just admired all of the details and… and polished the wood." Tears started trekking down his unmasked face. "F-forgive me." He turned and ran into his room, locking the door behind him.

Panting, Gustave stood there alone, replaying the turn of events in his mind. _Erik has handled my violin before. What should I do? I've told him not to enter my study countless times, but each time I catch him he says he was bored. Never have I thought that he would also be admiring my violin. I always thought he was after my books._ Shaking his head slightly and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, he collapsed onto the couch.

 _But has he done any wrong? Has he actually vandalized or destroyed any of my material? Did I notice any signs of damage when I played the violin just last night? No, I didn't. Why am I overreacting like so?_ Gustave shook his head, burying his face into his hands. _He really hasn't done anything wrong._

 _Why am I getting so worked up about my violin anyway in the first place? Isn't that what I vowed to Hannah when we married, that objects will hold no significant value in our lifetime? Why did I have to lose my temper over my violin? What have I done? What can I do to undo my wrongs?_ He too wept, drowning in his sorrow. He did not hear the loud knocking coming from his door, nor did he hear Hannah in their room informing him of the visitor.

"Gustave. Gustave!" Louis's and Antoinette's voices drifted into the living room, barely audible over his sobs. "Open up, Gustave! It's us!"

No response. Only faint sobs could be heard coming from the door. Antoinette frowned.

"That's odd… Wonder what happened." She turned to Louis. "Do you suppose the worst has happened?" she asked worriedly.

"On contrary, I think that Erik must have had an effect on Gustave," Louis sighed. The only reason he and Antoinette were visiting on the household everyday was because of Erik. His boredom demanded attention, and the books in Gustave's study weren't enough. Thus, Gustave compromised that Louis and Antoinette, the only other people outside of the Daaé family that Erik trusted and have seen his face, would come as his "playmates" for certain hours of the day, as well as to entertain the bedridden Hannah. Originally, Louis had strongly opposed the idea, as did Antoinette. However, as Antoinette too approached her final stages of pregnancy, the opera gave her the rest of her time off. Likewise, Gustave pointed out to Louis that his paperwork could technically be done anywhere, not just in the office alone.

In the end, both of them relented. At first, Erik was still wary of Antoinette, but immediately considered Louis to be his "oncle". They had to admit, though, that Erik had basically grown onto them. The stuttering, afraid boy from merely a month ago was gone, replaced by a stronger boy with a passion for learning. A true genius. On the first day, he demonstrated his ventriloquism and artistic ability as a painter. However, even that wasn't enough, and he soon yearned to learn more.

They frequently made trips to the Imperial National Library, the very heart of Paris, in order to bring Erik different novels to read. Erik often times would become immersed in those books, occasionally asking for Louis (and only Louis) for any assistance upon the meaning of words.

It quickly became apparent to the two that Erik had his own favorite book. They were not surprised when he begged them to purchase a copy of _The Beauty and the Beast_.

"Why do you want this book so badly?" Louis asked curiously as he handed Erik the copy. Erik looked down in depression.

"B…because the book has a beautiful ending for an ugly beast… and I…Erik wants an ending like that as well."

It took Louis's and Antoinette's combined efforts afterwards to soothe the hysterical Erik upon his confession. They never discussed the book after that incident, nor did Erik ever read the book in their presence.

However, even novels weren't enough to quench his thirst for knowledge. Just yesterday, Erik approached the two shyly for books in order to study other languages, namely Italian and English, as well as books and manuscripts for various professions, especially architecture and culinary arts.

Shifting his satchel and removing the language books, he searched for the spare key that Gustave had granted him nearly a month ago. Finding the small piece of metal, he grabbed it and replaced the other contents back into the satchel.

"What do you mean by 'an effect on Gustave'?"

"Well," he said, inserting the key into the lock, "you know how Gustave has been attached to his violin lately, non?"

Antoinette nodded her head in agreement. "Sometimes, I think he is beginning to neglect his family in lieu of Hannah's illness. Perhaps he is feeling hopeless or something…"

"And that is probably why he insisted on our appearance here." Opening the door, they encountered Gustave, still weeping uncontrollably on the couch. Louis could also hear another voice sobbing softly. "You take care of Gustave," Louis whispered to Antoinette. She nodded, while Louis followed the source of the second cry.

Standing in front of Erik's door, he knocked lightly. "Erik?" he whispered. "Are you in there?"

"O-oncle Louis?" The door opened slowly as if on its own. Louis entered the dark room cautiously, looking for the little boy. Despite the darkness, he found the boy with relative ease. He was huddling in the very corner of his room, shoulders trembling in fear.

"Oui, I am here, Erik."

At those words, Erik glanced upwards from his curled state, amber eyes meeting emerald. Mucus oozing out from his lack of a nose, he replied tearfully, "Has Oncle ordered Erik out of his flat?"

Louis was shocked. What had Gustave said to the boy to reduce him to rejection? _So uncharacteristically like him. Seriously, what is going on in Gustave's mind?_ "No, Erik. Gustave has not ordered you out of the house. In fact, he seems pretty shaken up himself." He cocked his head in the direction of Erik's door, where Gustave could still be heard weeping.

"Oncle hates Erik," he gasped in response. "All because I touched his violin…"

"Did you not tell him that you had my permission?"

"N-no… Oncle was so angry… so very angry… never had Erik ever seen Oncle so angry before…" tears reformed in his sunken eyes as he reburied his face into his arms.

Louis shook his head. _That thick-skulled man!_ "Erik, I don't think Oncle Gustave is angry with you…"

"Why would he not…?" Erik wailed. "Erik touched his violin, his precious violin. Erik should be punished, non? For breaking Oncle's rule many times..." He shrunk away from Louis's cold hand, which was reaching out to comfort him.

"Erik, stop this. You have done no wrong."

"Really, oncle?"

"Oncle Gustave hasn't been himself lately. Have you noticed?"

Erik's eyes once again locked into Louis's, and after some time, Erik nodded slightly.

"I think Oncle Gustave must be having a difficult time with Madame Hannah," Louis continued. "I think he feels like he can only watch helplessly as the Madame slips away from him every day."

"What's wrong with Madame Hannah?" Erik whispered. He had no idea that Hannah was seriously ill at all; he just thought that, like everyone else, Hannah kept her distance to be away from his hideous face. "Erik thought Madame Hannah didn't want to see Erik's face…" he touched his right cheek unconsciously.

"Madame Hannah only has influenza," Louis started.

"You mean the flu?"

"Oui, Erik."

Erik grinned weakly, then frowned. "But Oncle Louis, it is just the flu. Why would Madame Hannah be at risk?"

Louis shook his head. "Madame Hannah has a poor immune system. You do know what an immune system is, non?" Erik nodded. "Well, Madame Hannah was born with a weak immune system, so even the slightest illness will incapacitate her."

"Oh." Erik looked away, ashamed at his thoughts. "Erik thought perhaps Madame Hannah didn't want to see Erik…"

"On contrary," Louis interrupted, "Madame Hannah would like to see you every day, but you always keep your distance from her."

"My fault… Erik's fault… my fault…" he whimpered, tears restarting their flow.

"You should resolve all your problems with her soon," Louis reasoned. "I'm sure Madame Hannah will forgive you for what has happened."

"And what about Oncle?"

"I'm sure he did not mean what he said. He is always quick to forgive. Just give him time to rethink it out. If not, I'll force him to forgive you myself."

"Oncle Louis!" Erik gasped. "You wouldn't hurt Oncle, would you?"

"No, my boy," he chuckled. "I'll see what problem Oncle Gustave has and reason him through it. A man does not solve his problems by violence, but by reason." He puffed his chest proudly, and despite the darkness, Erik could still see Louis's medallions on the uniform glowing faintly. "Oh right, before I forget," he snapped out of his behavior. Removing his satchel, he withdrew the Italian and English textbooks. "Here Erik, as you requested."

Erik got up from his corner, hands reaching out for the books. "T-thank you Oncle Louis!" he cried out happily.

"Also…"

Erik looked up from the books, which he cradled in his arms as if they were precious. "What's wrong, Oncle Louis? Is something wrong?"

"You know your sketches of the opera house that I told you to draw a week ago?"

"Uh… Oui Oncle Louis. What's wrong? Was it that bad?"

"Oh no, no," Louis said hurriedly. "It's just that… I've been doing a side project under the name 'Charles Garnier'." He tapped his left foot rapidly, unable to release the proper words.

"What's wrong with that, Oncle Louis?"

"Well, you see, I am somewhat of an architect myself, and… I…. I actually liked your drawing of the opera house. I was…" Louis trailed off.

"Oncle Louis wishes to use Erik's drawing as a submission to the contest for the opera house design," Erik replied bluntly.

"H-how did you know, Erik?" he was amazed that the boy knew so much of what was going on outside.

"All your papers, Oncle Louis." He pointed at the satchel. "Oncle always has huge stacks of drawing paper in there, all detailing an opera house. You also had a worn-out flyer advertising the competition."

"You saw? When?"

Erik looked away from Louis's eyes. "Erik… Erik opened Oncle's satchel when Oncle accidently left it here some time ago."

"Ah. I see. Don't do that next time, alright Erik? That is not what a man should do. A man should always ask politely when he wishes access to stuff. He does not forcefully take it himself."

Erik nodded shamefully. Louis took this opportunity to get to the main point. "Anyway, I would like to use your design as my submission, but, as I am a man of honor, I ask for your permission to use it under my name." He looked at Erik, who was still facing away from Louis. "Aw, cheer up, Erik. You must not get too depressed with every lesson given to you."

"Er-I know, Oncle Louis. It's just that… my mother never gave me anything, no matter how nicely I tried…"

"Your mother?" Louis asked curiously. "Your own mother would not grant you your wish?"

"Mother always hurt Erik," he whispered. "Leaving Erik alone was the nicest thing she ever did to Erik…"

"Well, your mother was… is a horrible woman, Erik. I don't see how a mother could have done that to her own flesh and blood. Your mother was different. Do not act based on what you would normally do with your mother. You should ask for permission."

"Er-I'll try, Oncle Louis." He faced Louis. "And Oncle Louis…"

"Yes, Erik?"

"Does… do I also receive anything for contributing to the opera house design?"

Louis smiled warmly. "Of course you do, Erik. I'll share a portion of the reward."

"Oh, thank you, Oncle Louis!"

Just hearing Erik's happy voice melted Louis's heart. _Now, to confront Gustave…_

"Erik, please come with me. We will talk with Oncle Gustave together about his recent behavior."

XXXX

Antoinette made no progress when it came to Gustave. Despite her slaps, her insults, her pleas, Gustave would not snap out of his depression. To her relief, Louis rejoined her, with a nervous Erik in tow. His eyes were still red from crying.

"B-bonjour, Madame Giry."

Antoinette smiled despite the dreariness of the situation. "Bonjour, Erik." She turned to Louis. "Gustave won't come back to his senses," she said over Gustave's sobs.

"I'll deal with him. Go tend to Hannah." Antoinette nodded and left, casting one final look at the three.

Erik looked at Gustave nervously. He also had never seen Gustave this weak and vulnerable his entire life. "Oncle…"

At those words, something within Gustave snapped back to reality. Looking up, he found Erik staring at his pathetic form with concern and fear. Seeing the fear within those amber eyes brought Gustave the strength to answer. He never wanted to see the look upon the eyes ever again.

"Erik, I… I apologize for my words," he started, voice barely even and level. "I should not have yelled at you for something so trivial and harmless…"

He never got to finish his apology, for Erik had hugged him and was now sobbing uncontrollably into Gustave's chest, begging him to never do it again and for forgiveness. Gustave responded to Erik's hug with his own, and for what seemed to be minutes they hugged each other and cried together.

Seeing the deep embrace the two shared had touched Louis unexpectedly. He felt oddly jealous to Erik's enthusiastic show of affection, despite the shaky conflict between the two just moments before. How he, Louis, wanted an embrace like that… _No. I must not think about what I want._ Louis shook his head and turned away, not wanting to interrupt the reconciliation, walking slowly towards Hannah's room.

XXXX

Finally realizing they were alone, Erik withdrew from Gustave's grasp, hastily wiping his tears away from his face. "Do you truly mean it, Oncle? Or do you want Erik to leave…?"

"Never!" Gustave wiped his own tears. "You don't have to leave, Erik; in fact, I must insist that you stay with me… and Hannah! We care about you Erik…"

"Is Oncle still mad at me for playing with his violin…?"

"Of course not! Shocked, yes, but I know you haven't damaged it Erik!" He grabbed Erik's shoulders. "Forgive me, Erik, for raising my voice on something so trivial and stupid!"

No words were exchanged between the two for some time. Finally, Erik nodded slightly. "I forgive you, Oncle."

"Would…would you like to play on the violin now?" Gustave offered, beginning to get his violin. Erik nodded eagerly. Gustave slowly withdrew the violin from its case, inspecting it closely, before passing it over to Erik. Erik himself looked at the violin cautiously, holding the wooden instrument like a fragile doll. He held the bow in one hand and looked at Gustave for permission. Gustave nodded carefully in approval.

Erik began testing out the different notes, obtaining the feel and style of the violin. Then, Erik slowly began playing a sorrowful requiem, careful not to break the strings with the bow. Getting used to the instrument, he gained the confidence to play faster and faster, eventually breaking out into a passionate waltz. As the last note died, Erik eyed Gustave for his opinion and was shocked by what he saw.

Gustave sat motionless, in awe with Erik's skill. A boy, who had no prior musical experience, no violin practice, had just played the violin with a level that rivals a professional's. Even more, the music he just played… was something Gustave had never heard of. It was as if Erik was pouring his heart and soul into the music for the entire world to hear of his life. When his melody ended, Gustave was watching Erik with glossy eyes.

"Oncle Gustave? Is something wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"Nothing, nothing," Gustave hastily replied, shaking his head. He looked at Erik again. "I have never heard anything like that before," he added softly. "Did you compose the piece?"

Erik nodded.

"It is unearthly," he breathed. "Surely you have not thought of becoming a composer?"

"N-non, Oncle."

"And where did you learn how to play the violin, Erik?"

"Er-I didn't, Oncle. That was my first time playing on the… your violin."

"Would you like your own violin, Erik?"

Erik's eyes shone brightly. "Y-yes, I would, Oncle!"

XXXX

"Erik thinks that I resent him?" Hannah said in between coughs.

"Uh… oui. He believed that you were always in bed to avoid seeing his face." Louis shuffled his left foot uncomfortably. "He doesn't believe that you knew him in the past, nor that you are not afraid of his face."

"His mother… * _cough*_ never liked him… He only remembers parts of his mother… not me…"

"So he still has not recalled any memories of you, Hannah?"

"No, Annie, he has _*cough*_ not. I feel like he will never try to approach me, much less talk to me. I fear I will not last much longer…"

"Don't give up yet, Hannah!" Antoinette exclaimed. She gripped Hannah's arm tightly. "Your child needs you! Gustave needs you. Erik will certainly need you—"

The door creaked open slightly, and all three turned around to find Erik and Gustave, Erik looking extremely gleeful, while Gustave seemed to be arguing with Erik.

"Oncle, you said that we should talk to Tante Hannah first!"

"But Erik!" Gustave replied exasperatedly, "Hannah is quite sick right now! You mustn't disturb her now while she is asle—" He stopped when he realized that all three were staring intently at him. Hannah was obviously alert. "Why, Hannah… you're awake…"

"Tante Hannah! Are you well?" Erik ran to Hannah's hand, his cold skeletal hand snaking itself around Hannah's free hand.

"E-Erik?" Since the ball, Hannah had not laid her eyes on Erik. She could see that, despite Gustave often times telling her that he has been feeding Erik a substantial amount of food, that he still resembled a skeleton with skin. Not that it mattered anyway; Hannah loved Erik as he was.

"T-tante knows why Erik and Oncle Gustave would not approach you, right?"

"Y-yes, Erik. Louis and Antoinette _*cough*_ explained your fears to me…"

"So do you forgive Erik for not being close to Tante Hannah?"

"You-you forgive me as well, would you, Hannah?" Gustave added worriedly. He could still hear Antoinette's harsh words from earlier about his negligence of Hannah amidst his breakdown.

"There is nothing to forgive. Although _*cough*_ I would like to know why you are so excited right now."

"It's the best, Tante!" Erik exclaimed. "Oncle is going to buy me my very own violin!"

"Really now?" Hannah looked at Gustave weakly, barely making eye contact before shutting her eyes in exhaustion. "Well, don't let me drag you down."

"Uh… okay, Tante." Letting go of her hand, Erik left her side, as Antoinette ushered the men (and boy) out of the room.

"You all should leave. I'll watch over Hannah."

XXXX

Gustave and Louis were shocked. No sooner had they entered the music shop that Erik practically ran towards every instrument on display, admiring each and longing to try them out. Of course, with his full mask on, he couldn't play the wind instruments in front of the shopkeeper, but the others…

He played with the organ, the harpsichord, the piano, the violin, the cello, the harp… within 5 minutes of each instrument, Erik was playing each as if he had years of experience. The shopkeeper himself was in awe at the masked boy's genius, despite the wariness towards the boy's identity.

"You wish to purchase a violin?" he asked Gustave, who was still examining the different varieties of violins on display.

"Oui," he murmured, picking each violin up and playing it himself, before setting it down and moving on to the next violin. Louis trailed behind Erik, making sure the boy wasn't getting himself in trouble. He needn't have bothered. Erik was too obsessed with playing to his heart's content on the instruments.

"I can recommend you—"

"I prefer this one." Gustave pointed at an antique violin. "This one is of supreme quality, and I would like the best for my apprentice."

"Are you sure?"

"Apprentice?" Erik stopped playing the harpsichord from across the shop, turning towards Gustave's voice. "Oncle wants to teach Erik?"

"Of course, Erik." Gustave smiled at the boy, then faced the shopkeeper. "Oui, I would like the violin made by the famed Guarneri del Gesu. Erik, come here and see the violin."

Erik rose from the seat and practically flew to Gustave's side, staring longingly at the violin that Gustave was now holding. "It's perfect Oncle! That one was the best of all I tried!"

"Very well then, Erik. Monsieur, I wish to purchase this one."

"Monsieur, you do know that the violin is of very high retail value. Are yo—"

"Yes, yes. I assure you, I can purchase it."

"I will help pay for it." Louis stated as he rejoined the two. In response to Gustave's shocked expression, he added, "I would like to see Erik happy as well."

Erik's eyes shone as the transaction was completed, while Louis watched the boy with vague interest.

 _An artist. A budding architect, a musician, a magician. A genius… this boy is a genius…_

The men (and Erik) left the shop, Erik clutching the violin case with utmost care.

 _Such a careful heart. Why did I think he would have destroyed my violin if he takes such good care of everything he has?_ Gustave cursed his stupidity.

 _Today starts a new era. No longer will I try to burden my heart with worries about Erik and Hannah._

 _I will start anew._

* * *

"Oncle" is French for "uncle". Erik has begun calling Louis and Gustave "oncle" as they are the closest people he has to a father.

"Tante" is French for "aunt". Erik finally understands the true reason why Hannah is bedridden and now does not hesitate to call her an aunt. Antoinette, on the other hand, has not yet obtained Erik's trust.

How ironic; I did not realize that Charles Garnier's full name was Jean-Louis Charles Garnier until after I published this chapter. The actual Charles Garnier lived from 6 November 1825- 3 August 1898. The actual designs for the opera house was finalized in 1862/1863, not 1864, while the design competition took place around 30 December of 1860.

Guarneri del Gesu was a luthier, a person who makes and repairs instruments, and lived from 21 August 1698-17 October 1744.

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

Any other reviews and comments are welcomed.


	14. Ch 13: Safe and Sound

**Chapter 13: Safe and Sound**

 _13 February 1864_

"That was beautiful, Erik!" Hannah clapped weakly from her bed as the last notes faded out. Erik put down his violin and blushed.

"It was nothing, Tante," he responded shyly. "I merely want to make up for the past month and a half."

Hannah was content. Not only was Erik no longer speaking in third person, but he now spent a good majority of his time with her. Of course, so did Antoinette whenever Erik felt like learning from Louis or Gustave, but still… it was nice to have the little musician back with her. Every day he would play for her a new piece that he had recently come up with. It was just like the old times.

 _My little musician,_ Hannah smiled at that thought. She could still remember all those years ago…

XXXX

 _10 January 1857_

It was exactly six months before Madeleine forcefully removed Hannah from her position as a maid. Little Erik, hardly over the age of 2, was already walking and talking, speaking in clear, grammatically correct sentences, albeit with the typical childish dialect.

"Hannah! Come qwickwy! Come!" the little voice piped up through the silent house. Madeleine was not in the house; she rarely _was_ in the house in the first place, and when she was, she always kept her distance from Hannah and Erik.

"Coming, Erik!" Placing down the feather duster, Hannah found the little boy, who was trying to climb up the piano stool. "Erik," she scolded playfully, "what exactly are you trying to do?"

Erik gave her a mischievous grin. "I am twying to get up and pway the piwano," he replied.

Hannah chuckled and picked Erik up, placing him on the stool. "There, is that better, Erik?" The boy nodded eagerly, then pointed at the piano lid.

"Hannah, can you opwen up the piwano for me? I would wike to pway on it."

"Certainly, Erik." Inwardly, she braced for the loud racket that was inevitable, but who was she to deny a child who was all too willing to experiment? She lifted the lid and stood there, watching Erik. Erik was silently examining every ivory key, occasionally pressing them gently in order to get the note. Finally, satisfied, he began stringing a couple of notes together, until it formed a simple melody. He continued playing until his tiny fingers grew tired. Panting at his efforts, he turned to face Hannah, who was looking at him with nothing but love in her eyes. How wrong she was about how the piano would turn out.

"Hannah? What did you think of my mewody?"

"It was beautiful…"

"Hannah, you said my woice was bweautiful as well. Which is more bweatiful?"

"Both, Erik." She hugged the toddler tightly, feeling his cold skin upon her fingers. "But perhaps you should stick to your voice for now, since you have more practice in singing, alright?"

"But Hannah, I weally wike the pwiano."

"I know you do, Erik." She smiled warmly as she gazed upon the boy's sunken eyes. "But you have so much time to hone in and polish your skill as a piano. Besides, your fingers right now are still too short to play the piano effectively. You have to practice a lot, they must surely be tired now. Maybe tomorrow, Erik?"

"…Awight, Hannah," he pouted.

"Now, would you like to sing with me while I finish dusting your mother's room?"

"My mother?"

"Yes, Erik. The woman who lives with us is the one who gave birth to you."

"So that's my mother? I don't wike her. I wike you, Hannah. You should be my mother."

Hannah was moved to tears with that statement as she lowered Erik from the piano stool. "Come now, I must dust."

"What do you want to sing, Hannah?"

Hannah smiled. "Surprise me."

XXXX

 _13 February 1864_

Erik silently left Hannah's room when Antoinette made her appearance. Although he liked Tante's eagerness to listen to him play, a part of him wished for Tante to sing. He wasn't sure _why_ he wanted to hear her sing; perhaps it was due to Oncle's comment of Tante being the understudy Prima Donna just yesterday; perhaps it was due to his recent liking towards the opera.

"So, how'd it go Erik?" Louis was leaning against the wall outside of the bedroom, waiting for Erik to leave. Louis had made it a habit to stand outside and wait for Erik to finish entertaining Hannah, all so he could spend more time with the boy.

The boy.

He was the warm heat inside his cold life, despite the natural coldness of their body temperatures. He gave him a _reason_ to live, to go through the pains of living, to see him smile. And so far, what delighted the nine year old boy the most was learning something new every day.

Erik was all too happy to embrace Louis after setting down his violin case. "Oncle Louis! You stayed outside again! Why didn't you enter the bedroom with me?"

"Why should I, Erik? That was Tante's and your private moment together. You promised her weeks ago, remember? You have to keep your word."

"I know," Erik crossed his arms and pouted. "But sometimes Madame Giry takes forever to come. There is not lot I can do with Tante. All she wants is for me to play music for her. I like to play and make up music, Oncle Louis, but I want to play it alone."

"Why would you want to play it alone, Erik?" Louis asked curiously. "That's the point of the arts, non? To share your work for the rest of the world to enjoy."

"But Oncle Louis," Erik sulked, "that's what Erik's face is for. All people wanted to see was the face." He pointed at his face, which tightened into a frown. The impression of an angry skull unleashing fiery anger was intense. But not for Louis.

"Well, you don't _have_ to perform your works in public. You could just publish them by writing it down on sheet music."

"Like the stacks that Oncle Gustave has?"

"Yes. Gustave is not a composer, but he performs other people's works. He could do the same for you, too, if you wrote down the music for him."

"Did someone say my name?" Louis and Erik turned around and looked down the hallway, startled, as Gustave entered the flat. "Louis, you know I have excellent hearing. What did you say my name for?"

"Uh… Gustave! What a… surprise to see you… I thought your shift didn't end until midnight…" Louis nervously replied. He began tapping his left foot in anxiety. Erik too, seeing Louis so tense, began tapping his foot as well, albeit enthusiastically.

Gustave inwardly grinned at their similar action. "Well, Louis, there wasn't much to do anyway. The Sûreté is heavily overstaffed right now, and there isn't much to do this evening." He looked at Erik, who didn't seem quite agitated as Louis. "Now, now Erik, what were you and Oncle Louis discussing just moments ago?"

Erik grinned shyly. "Oncle Louis was suggesting that I write my music down… and you can play it for me, Oncle. He says that way, I can share my music to the world without showing…" he moved his left hand towards the direction of his face, which turned into a scowl. He turned away from Louis and Gustave and began pondering about something.

"Erik, what's wrong?" both men questioned him worriedly.

"Nothing, nothing… It's just that," he turned to face Gustave. "Oncle, you still haven't taught me how to read sheet music. I cannot compose if Erik does not know how to read it."

"Ah, right." Gustave almost forgot. He always played from his heart and never took the time to read sheet music; thus, the stacks in his office were downright meaningless to him. "I will, soon," he promised Erik.

His hideous face brightened considerably, thin lips curled into a genuine smile. "Thank you Onc—"

The rest of Erik's speech was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream, the voice hoarse yet filled with pain echoed throughout the flat. Erik jumped at the sound, yelping in response to the scream. Louis and Gustave paled. _The voice is coming from the main bedroom…_

"Louis! Gustave!" Antoinette's voice cried out weakly from the bedroom door. "It's starting… get the midwife!"

Gustave wasted no time; within seconds, he bolted right out of the flat, all while yelling, "Midwife! Midwife!" He paid no heed that it he was yelling in the middle of the night, potentially disturbing other citizens. Louis and Erik stared at the entrance door at the very end of the hallway, too shocked to say a thing. They were brought back to reality by another one of Hannah's screams.

"Oncle Louis… will Tante be okay…?" the boy whimpered. The screams reminded him so much of his time at the camp, when he too, had made such inhumane sounds. He shook his head frantically, trying to rid the awful memories at that place. It didn't work.

"Erik." Louis's cold hand wrapped itself around Erik's as he led the boy to his bedroom. "All women go through this. They must in order to give birth. This is completely natural." _Almost. I wouldn't know myself, I have never been present during birth since I don't know any other women besides Antoinette and Hannah personally._ _And even so, it shouldn't be this loud and pained._ He lit a candle and placed it on Erik's dresser.

"But Oncle Louis," Erik said as he gently closed the door shut in order to block out the intensity of Hannah's screams. "This is beyond what I have read in the anatomy book." He pointed at _Gray's Anatomy_ , which lay on the dresser next to the candlestick. "It sounds like when…"

He couldn't say it. He choked back a sob as his body heaved and shook.

"When what, Erik?" Louis asked gently. He wrapped his cold hands around Erik, lightly embracing him. Although not deep, Erik found it quite comforting.

It gave him the courage to confess to Louis.

"When… when Erik was raped by the gypsy."

 _I forgot. Gustave did mention to me that the boy had been raped, and that led to the master's quick demise. Poor child…_ But Louis didn't know what to say. He could not think of words of comfort to offer the boy. None. Instead, he let his actions speak by stroking Erik's back gently. At this notion, Erik broke down and sobbed into Louis's crisp uniform.

XXXX

Gustave knocked frantically on the midwife's door, out of breath. The last time he had ever exerted so much energy into running was during the masquerade. _Come on. Come on now, damned midwife, open up the door now._ He did not cease knocking even when the sound of unlocking reached his ears, nor when the door swung inward. His body leaned forward at the sudden movement of the door, fist coming into contact with the disgruntled midwife's face at full force.

"ARGH! IS THIS WHAT YOU DO TO SOMEONE?!" the midwife crackled out, hands clutching her face in pain. Gustave, realizing his actions, withdrew his hand immediately.

"I apologize, Madame Angeline," he hastily replied. The midwife let go of her hand and promptly slapped Gustave across the cheek.

"GOD DAMMIT, THIS IS FOR WHAT YOU JUST DID TO ME! CARE TO EXPLAIN?" Gustave recoiled in pain at the intensity of the slap, rubbing his cheek while muttering incomprehensive curses. Until, of course, he saw what he had done to Angeline's face—blood was trickling down her nose—and took back his words.

"I-I truly apologize, Madame Angeline, here…" he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. "But… we must hurry. My wife… she hasn't been well these past two months, and… our child is coming. I don't know what to do, I fear the worst…" he said hopelessly.

"Alright," Angeline snapped, although in truth she too was concerned for the soon-to-be-mother's wellbeing. She understood why this man would be in such a panicked state. "But I'm charging you extra for this." Gustave grinned weakly as she pointed with her free hand towards her nose, and promptly accepted the handkerchief. Applying pressure to her nose, she added, "Now, I must get my materials." She closed the door, leaving Gustave outside in the darkness.

 _Damn, I messed up big time._ For what seemed like hours, Gustave stood there, pondering his next move and worrying over Hannah's health. He looked up at the half-moon in the sky, wondering if perhaps his heart might just be cut into two tonight.

XXXX

"Oncle Louis? What does this word mean?"

"Hmm? Oh, Erik, that word is…" Louis shook his head. He couldn't shake off this feeling of paternity with the boy. Here he was, teaching Erik everything he knew about Italian—Louis was quite surprised that he actually knew how to speak Italian; when did he learn to read and speak it so fluently?—as close as father-to-son as he could possibly be.

But deep down, he knew that Erik probably considered Gustave to be his 'father'. After all, they shared the common interest in music. _Music… one of the very few arts I have no idea of_. Erik probably considered Louis to be more of a tutor than an Oncle or father… he wasn't the person Erik got the most comfort from. Was he?

Louis wept inwardly, knowing that he would never achieve parenthood with his age and scar.

"That word is _famiglia_ … it means 'la famille'."

"Ah. And what about this one?" Erik pointed at another word in the textbook, finally oblivious to Hannah's situation.

"That is… _padre_ … it means 'pére'…"

"And this one?"

"That is _zio…_ otherwise known as 'oncle' here..."

 _Oh, why did the boy have to flip to the page that covered family relations?_

"Zio Louis." Erik chuckled as the new Italian word slipped out of his mouth seamlessly. "I like the sound of it, Oncle Louis."

"You do, Erik? Perhaps we should cover something else tonight, Erik." Erik closed the Italian book, only to open the adjacent English textbook.

"Here, Oncle Louis! What does this mean?" he pointed at a page. Louis squinted to make out the miniscule text, only to find that Erik had, coincidentally, flipped to the family relations section of the book.

"That is 'uncle', Erik. Also known as 'oncle'." Again, Louis was surprised by his own vast knowledge on the English language.

"Oncle. Uncle. They don't sound different, Oncle Louis."

"No, they don't."

Erik continued pointing at other words upon the page, Louis almost soullessly responding to his questions. Louis was lost in his own hell, pondering the significance of these words upon his mind.

 _Dang it, Lord. Why must you taunt me so? And in this torturous way so…_

XXXX

 _14 February 1864_

It was midnight by the time Gustave and Angeline returned to his flat. Gustave couldn't help but feel the odd coincidence; exactly fifty-four days ago, he had rescued little Erik from that dreadful place. Now, here he was, outside his own door. He cursed his stupidity for leaving his keys on the kitchen counter. The midwife herself was beyond angry; she began yelling and cursing at Gustave for their current situation, her own bloody nose only just started lessening.

It took minutes for Louis and Erik to notice the pounding upon the door. The moment Louis opened the door, Gustave and the midwife bolted to Gustave's and Hannah's bedroom. Curious as to what was happening, the masked Erik attempted to follow.

"No, Erik." Louis placed his hand on Erik's bony shoulder, stopping the little boy in his tracks. "You mustn't go follow them. What they are about to do is not suitable for your age."

"But Oncle Louis, I already know what they're going to do."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to give Tante her privacy, non?"

"I suppose so, Oncle Louis." They returned back to Erik's room, Erik all too eager to return to learning English, Louis all too tired to continue to tutor the energetic boy.

Meanwhile, Gustave and the midwife practically forced the bedroom door open, startling Antoinette and Hannah, momentarily causing the latter to forget her pain as her eyes widened at the sight of her husband.

"So, I'm dealing with a double delivery?" Angeline looked at Gustave suspiciously at the sight of two pregnant women in one bed.

"Oh, non, non Madame. I am merely a friend who has been looking over his wife. My own husband died four months ago," Antoinette hastily replied to clear up and confusion, while Hannah and Gustave looked away from the midwife uncomfortably.

"Hmm… well, in any case, it is not my business to attend to. So, which one of you are about to deliver?"

"My wife, Hannah." He made his way to Hannah's side, gripping her hand tightly, as the midwife took out her supplies.

"Madame, you are well past the first stages of labor. Your contractions are already well on the way. How did you not notice the early signs?"

Hannah smiled weakly. "It… it just came. I lost track…"

"Never mind. I must first go and disinfect my hands. Do you by any chance have soap and water?"

"Do I get a reduction fee for supplying you so?" Gustave weakly joked, before being reprimanded by the midwife's glare.

"Here, follow me." Antoinette made her way to the bathroom, with Angeline closely behind.

"Gustave." Their hands never released, and Gustave noticed the noticeable heat emanating from her hand. He brought her hand to his cheek.

"Yes, mon amour?"

"Stay right here with me," she whispered, as the midwife and Antoinette returned.

Gustave nodded grimly. Come heaven or hell, he would stay beside Hannah throughout this ordeal. Their child was coming.

XXXX

After nearly 7 hours of painful pushing, Hannah gave birth to a beautiful blond-haired girl. The child's cry rang throughout the house like a melody, waking up Erik and Louis. The two had fallen asleep on Erik's bed, Erik locked in Louis's embrace, the textbook opened next to them.

"Wha… what happened, Oncle Louis?" Erik asked groggily, hands running up to rub his sunken eyes. He was surprised by how close Oncle Louis was to him, but found that he didn't find it odd.

"Hmm?" Louis replied sleepily. He peered open one of his eyes to find Erik's face staring back at him, his own arms wrapping around the boy. _Oh my…_ The cries continued as Erik's question ran through his mind. "I think… I think the child has been born, Erik." He closed his eyes at the sunlight that peeked through the window shades.

"A child? I want to see it!" Erik wriggled himself free from the embrace and ran to his door.

"Erik, wait! The midwife might still be here!" He got up slowly, grabbing the mask that lay discarded on the floor. "Here, Erik."

Erik quickly fastened the strings, eager to see the child, and hurried to the source of the cry. As he opened the main bedroom, he was shocked when the midwife was standing mere inches from him, about ready to leave.

"Move aside, boy. I must leave now." Erik quickly moved aside, and the midwife left. He looked around the room. The room was dark, and every window shade was closed, as always. Gustave sat next to a deathly pale Hannah, with the child wrapped in the bundle of blankets within his arms. Madame Giry, who had been sitting on the other side of Hannah, got up.

"I think I should go now," Madame Giry said softly. "Louis and I have… our own matters to attend to." Louis stood at the doorframe, waiting for Antoinette to leave.

"Go ahead then, Antoinette. Au revoir," Gustave replied. Hannah said nothing. Erik frowned as he took off his mask. Why was she not moving?

Once Antoinette Giry left the bedroom, Gustave showed the bundle to Erik. "Erik, meet Christine Élise Daaé."

Erik backed away. "Oncle, I cannot. I will not show her Erik's face. She'll scream and cry and yell at me…"

"D-don't be afraid, Erik…" a hoarse voice replied. "B-babies… do not… know… fear…"

"Tante is right, Erik. Christine will not know the difference. Don't be afraid, she'll treat you just the same."

Warily, Erik approached the child. Her blue eyes gazed upon his ravaged face wonderingly, taking in every detail. The new face... Erik recoiled when the baby reached her stubby hands outwards, but stopped upon realizing the baby meant no harm. "May I… may I hold her?"

"Of course. Be careful though Erik, she might fall…" Gustave handed Christine over to Erik, and instructed him the correct way to hold the baby. Christine touched Erik's cold hands, not knowing any better the difference between his hands and her own father's appearances. With Christine being attended by Erik, he turned to face Hannah, whose forehead was still covered with perspiration.

"G-gustave… I don't think… I don-t think I'll ma...make it…"

"No, Hannah! You must hold on!" he gripped her hand tightly, noticing very quickly that her body temperature was now as cold as Erik's. It had never been this cold at all before.

"So… so tired… so ve…very, very tired…"

Gustave hurriedly pried open the shades, allowing the sunlight to flood the dark bedroom. Erik gasped at the sudden change in light setting, and even more by Hannah's words.

"Tante? What's going on?"

"Erik. I fear… I fear… I am dying." _Oh Lord, am I to die without Erik ever remembering who I am? Perhaps I should sing now, now that the pregnancy is over. I must…_ "C-can you p-pass me Chr-christine?"

Erik placed the bundle next to Hannah. The baby started crying. Gustave held onto her hand, knowing the inevitable was coming. Nothing was going to help her recover.

"S-shh now, Chr-christine." Mustering up the very last of her strength, she sang a lullaby very softly.

" _I remember tears streaming down your face,_

 _When I said, 'I'll never let you go'._

 _When all the shadows almost killed your light..._

 _I remember you said, 'don't leave me, alone'._

 _But all that's dead and gone and passed… tonight…"_

Erik paled at her voice, her words. Memories were flooding back to him. Hard. He remembered her singing this very same lullaby, that day he first played the piano…

" _Just close your eyes, the sun is going down._

 _You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now._

 _Come morning light,_

 _You and I'll be safe… and… sound."_

The day when his mother beat Hannah… beat Erik… it was all coming back to him. All coming back to him…

XXXX

 _10 July 1857_

" _Leave Hannah alone!" he waved his tiny fists at his so called mother, hitting her on the leg, as the woman continued to beat upon the unconscious body of Hannah._

" _GET OFF ME, YOU DEMON FROM HELL!" she kicked Erik, and he landed against the dresser, groaning in pain at the sudden impact with the wooden frame. She proceeded to throw mirrors at him. "HERE! HERE! HERE, GAZE UPON THE DEMON THAT RESIDES WITHIN YOU! YOUR VERY SOUL IS INFUSED WITH THE DEVIL!"_

 _Each mirror shattered around him as she kicked and slapped, punched and scratched at him. Each action caused the shards of mirrors around him to become imbedded upon his skin. Little Sasha barked and ran in front of Erik, daring his mother to do anything more._

 _It was no use. Within seconds, the woman had taken the dog and slammed her against the headboard of his bed. The dull crunch of breaking bones occurred, and the dog made sounds no more._

" _No! Sasha!" Erik crawled towards the body of his dog, caressing the corpse while crying out her name. No use. The woman yanked Erik's ear and dragged him to the bathroom, shoving him directly in front of the bathroom mirror._

" _GAZE UPON THE VERY MONSTER WITHIN, DEMON." She slammed his head against the mirror and left him alone, bleeding and crying in the bathroom, more shards of mirror imbedded upon his ugly face._

 _When Hannah regained consciousness, she found Erik, crying in front of the shattered bathroom mirror._

" _Mother showed me a monster. But no, no longer is it here…"_

XXXX

 _14 February 1864_

"Hannah," Erik cried out brokenly, his cold hands wrapping around and his head burying into her chest. He sobbed, finally realizing this woman's significance to his life, crying while begging her to forgive him for forgetting her for so long.

Hannah weakly smiled. _I get to die with my family surrounding me, and Erik remembering who I am._ "Take… take good care of Christine for me, you two…"

Both Erik and Gustave nodded, both faces wet with tears. Little Christine continued bawling, begging for her mother to continue singing.

" _Don't you dare look out your window,_

 _Child, everything's on fire._

 _The pain outside your door keeps going on…_

 _Hold… on… to… this… lul…la…by…_

 _Even when... I am… gone…"_

She could feel it, her voice quickly failing. Her very hands went numb, her senses were fading quickly. With one final glance towards her loving family, Hannah closed her eyes and smiled, exhaling her final breath.

Gustave could feel her hands going limp as the pulse deadened. He gently kissed his wife's lips, whispering tearfully, "goodbye, mon amour…"

He removed little Christine from Hannah's side. The baby had stopped crying and was now curious as to why the two men were, in turn, crying. Tears splashed upon her tiny face as Gustave closed the shades, trapping them in darkness once more.

* * *

Early chapter this week!

Gendarmerie is the national French police force, specializing in small towns and the safety of the country from outsiders (basically, military). The Sûreté, on the other hand, are effectively policemen of large cities (cough, cough Paris). I made slight edits to previous chapters in order to adapt this new information I recently researched; Gustave and Louis work at the Sûreté as of right now, not the Gendarmerie.

"Safe and Sound" by Taylor swift is used for Hannah's farewell lullaby.

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

If anyone is bored on this website, I suggest they read "The Beauty Underneath" by MomoxDerpy. I've helped her with editing and the plot so far is great!

Any other reviews and comments are welcomed.


	15. Ch 14: Help Them Say Goodbye

**Chapter 14: Help Them Say Goodbye**

 _15 February 1864_

"Oncle? You must get up. We must get Oncle Louis and Madame Giry…" Erik tugged on Gustave's sleeve, begging him to respond. It was futile.

For all of yesterday, Gustave sat next to Hannah's cold corpse, unmoving, leaving little Erik to care for Christine. The little child kept on crying… crying… and Erik didn't know why. Was she hungry? Was she sleepy? Was it because she saw his face? Erik didn't know.

In the end, he sang Hannah's final lullaby to Christine, all while his own tears mixed with hers. Their tears mingled into a salty combination of various reasons—the child's actually out of hunger, the boy's out of pure desperation.

Christine finally went back to sleep, and Erik was left alone with the despondent Gustave. There was no milk in the fridge. No food. Apparently, Hannah had originally planned on breastfeeding the child.

"Oncle… get up… you must call Oncle Louis or Madame Giry… Christine is starving, Oncle! We don't have milk… we don't have much in the fridge… Oncle…?"

"No use… no use…" Gustave moaned, still trapped in his own world. "She's gone, she's gone… all I worked for so long is coming apart in front of me..."

Erik wept. He hurried out of the bedroom, unwilling to sit next to Oncle any longer. He knew that Oncle was suffering from depression—a psychology book he borrowed matched Oncle's description—but it still _hurt_ to hear Oncle say those words.

Luckily, at that moment, Erik heard knocking at the door. Making sure the baby was still asleep, he snatched his mask, which Christine had been playing with before falling asleep, tied the strings back on, and bolted towards the door. "Who is it?" he called out.

"It's Oncle Louis."

Erik opened the door and hugged Louis tightly. "Oncle Louis, it's horrible!" Tears started falling down the cold porcelain of the full mask. "Tante died yesterday… Tante is gone…"

"Gone…?" Louis was not completely shocked. He had seen her physical degrading throughout the past month, but it was still… saddening to know that a friend had passed on. And so soon too, after giving birth. "Where's Gustave?"

Erik shook his head. "Oncle won't get up. He won't respond. He's with Tante, crying and begging her to come back… There is no food for Christine… No food at all… there is hardly enough for Oncle and I..." Erik took off his mask and sloppily tried to wipe away his tears. "I… I… Erik feels helpless… Tante is gone, Oncle is lost, and Christine will die soon without nourishment… She won't stop crying and Erik doesn't know why…What can E-Erik do…? He can't go outside… he can't go buy food, nor can he convince Oncle to come back… Oncle Louis, help me…"

Louis patted Erik's back gently. "Now, now," he said in a calming voice. "I will go buy some food for Christine now. And maybe something for you to eat as well. Can you wait here and make sure the baby hangs on while I go buy it?" Erik nodded. "Good." He turned back towards the door. "I will return as soon as I can."

XXXX

Perhaps it was due to Christine's soft breathing, perhaps it was the situation of light at the end of the tunnel; regardless, Erik found that time passed by quickly. Within what seemed to be minutes, Louis was back with an entire armful of goods.

"Th-thank you Oncle Louis…" Erik reached for the milk that Louis had bought. "H-how do I feed her though? Erik has no idea how to…" he placed the milk down. "I fear I might accidentally hurt her when I do so…"

"I have no idea how to do so myself," Louis admitted. "I assume we would use this," he took out a rubberized bottle. "The only problem with this is that the rubber must be replaced often… I don't think this is very sanitary for the baby. You said the baby's name is Christine, right?" Erik nodded. "Well, yes, this is not going to be good on her health. I have purchased additional bottles as well, but the sooner she is capable of feeding without the bottle, the better."

"I... I'll try to feed her," Erik whispered. He took the bottle and poured the milk into it. He slowly made his way to the sleeping baby in his room, hoping that this would be able to soothe her hunger.

He needed not to have worried. For the moment he gently inserted the bottle into her mouth, she instinctively began sucking on it, despite the cold temperature of the milk. When all of the milk was gone, the baby began to whimper.

"Oncle Louis! Oncle Louis! What should I do? She's whimpering…"

He had no idea what to do. Erik had only read up the physical anatomy of the human body, not the behaviors of children, and had next to no knowledge on taking care of one.

Louis rushed out of the kitchen, where he was carefully sorting out some of the goods he bought, towards Erik's voice. He found Erik standing as far away as the baby as possible, while the child had its eyes closed and was on the verge of crying. "Erik, she needs to be burped."

"Burped?"

"Yes, Erik, all babies need to be burped after a meal. It helps them swallow the food down."

"But Oncle Louis, I have no idea how to burp a baby…"

"I think you do it like this…" He cautiously picked up Christine and placed her on his shoulder, patting her back as gently as possible. Within seconds, the baby finished burping and was snoozing away happily. "See, Erik?"

"I see…" He removed Christine from Louis's shoulders and proceeded to place her onto his bed, keeping watch to her every move. "Could you… could you make Oncle come back to his senses?" he suddenly blurted out.

"I-I'll try. I'm not sure if I'll be successful though."

"I… Erik feels useless. He can hardly take care of a baby, he doesn't feel completely human… he can't even go outside…" he wailed. "Erik should just die right now. You'll do it, won't you, Oncle Louis? Spare me the pain right now… maybe Oncle will snap back upon realizing the dead will remain dead."

"ERIK!" Louis was shocked by the boy's words. This was beyond the other words of self-loathing that he heard the boy mutter to himself in the past month. "Stop berating yourself as so! I will not kill you Erik, and I insist that you do not attempt to do so yourself." Erik began shaking his head frantically.

"No… no one cared about Erik then… not then… not now… No one but Tante and Oncle and Oncle Louis… when they're dead and gone, who will then…? Tante is gone… gone… Erik cannot hear her voice anymore, cannot gain back what he lost all those years ago… useless… USELESS!"

"Erik, you must stop that. You'll wake Christine." Louis found it odd that, despite the commotion occurring just feet from her, that the baby had not batted an eyelash.

"Why should Erik stop? Erik is sure Oncle is feeling the same way…"

"Which is why Christine needs you," Louis abruptly cut in. "You were, and still are, here for her when she needed it most. She would have died from exhaustion had you not soothed her. Gustave still has you two. He will not give up living."

"But he won't come ba—"

"He hasn't accepted that Hannah has moved on, Erik. Just like you are right now."

"H...how do you suppose Er-I move on, then, Oncle Louis…? How do I let it go… prevent the past from holding me back…?"

Louis sighed. "Perhaps you can write a song or two?" he suggested. "Pour your very heart and soul into it? Maybe Tante will be able to hear it up in Heaven."

"Oh, Oncle Louis, that's a great idea!" he went to grab his violin which lay in the corner of his room. "I'll start right now!"

"Atta boy, Erik!" he ruffled the boy's hair.

"You will still talk to Oncle though, won't you Oncle?"

"Yes, I will."

"Oncle Louis?"

"Yes?"

"How did the opera house competition turn out?"

 _My God! In my haste, I forgot the main reason why I came here in the first place!_ "Erik, your submission won first place!"

"Really, Oncle Louis?" his amber eyes positively radiated in happiness and excitement.

"Yes, Erik. In fact, here is the cash reward." He opened his satchel and took out an entire fold of notes. "100,000 francs, to be exact."

Erik's eyes widened at the sight of the bundle of francs. "Do… do you suppose the bank would keep it? We could gain more money by allowing the collecting the interest from the bank."

Louis beamed at the little boy. Gosh, he knew so much about the world! "We certainly can, Erik. We certainly can."

XXXX

When Louis entered the main bedroom, he shivered at the cold temperature the room was in comparison to Erik's. It was even colder than Erik's (and, arguably, his very own) skin temperature. His eyes took several minutes to adjust to the darkness of the room, and even then he could barely make out a hunched silhouette over the bed. "Gustave?" he called softly.

The silhouette didn't respond. Louis crept closer to the figure to make out its features.

It was Gustave, all right. A Gustave frozen in time, frozen in thought. Louis slapped the man's cheeks.

"Snap out of it, Gustave."

No response. He slapped again and again. Still nothing. Feeling heat upon his hands for perhaps the first time in a while, he gave up.

"You leave me no choice, Gustave. I will drag you out of this room if that will bring you back to the living."

He grasped what seemed to be his shoulder and pulled the figure out of the room. At least he tried. The man's hand was locked in a tight embrace to another's.

Louis cursed his luck. Now he had to pry Gustave's fingers away from a dead woman. A woman who had been his friend for so long.

Wincing at Hannah's cold, stiff fingers, he somehow managed to separate the couple's embrace. Rigor mortis had set in upon her, and Gustave somehow did not notice. Shivering slightly, Louis dragged Gustave to the living room, passing Erik's music-filled room. Louis smiled inwardly. _The boy is already composing and has a melody in his head. Stay strong, Erik._ He released Gustave onto the couch and waited.

Upon the change in temperature, Gustave gradually returned back to the present time. His glazed look steadily faded as his breathing normalized. Suddenly aware of his surroundings, his neck jerked upwards. What was he doing in his living room? Was this all a dream? Could… could perhaps Hannah still be alive, waiting for him to come back to him? Louis's facial expression rejected his beliefs.

"Gustave." Louis's cold voice caused Gustave to flinch slightly. "You… you know what happened yesterday, non?"

Gustave could only nod. He couldn't speak, no matter how widely he opened his mouth and willed for his voice to project.

"You left Erik alone with Christine for an entire day. Your food supplies have run dangerously low. Christine was left without any alternative source of nourishment. All while you basically died alongside Hannah."

"I… I did…?" he finally managed to croak out.

"It was as if you were frozen in time, as Erik said. No matter what I did inside that room, or what Erik did for that matter, you remained, gripping Hannah's hand."

"No… it can't be…"

" _You had your pain, and nothing more! Were you possessed? What was your demon?"_

"I—"

" _You've never been this way before, where is the fire that you had lived on?"_

"You don't unde—"

" _There's something strange,_ Gustave! _There's something wrong. I see a change. It's like when hope dies. I, who have known you for so long, I can see the pain in your eyes…"_

" _Have… have I… become…"_

" _There was a time, you lived your life, and no one lived the way that you lived that you did…"_

" _My pain and… nothing more…?"_

" _You had a life, you had a wife, you had it all that very few did."_

" _I know… that's not…"_

 _You had it all, the overall! But now it seems, you don't at all! You have your pain, nothing more…"_

" _What I wanted…"_

" _Still I pray! That someday! That you may, find your way."_

" _Still I pray, that someday, that Oncle finds his way…"_ Erik's small, angelic voice drifted into the living room, blending in with Louis's scratchy voice. Shocked at the boy's entrance into their one-sided conversation, Louis and Gustave turned to find Erik holding his violin, an excited expression upon his face.

"Ah, Erik, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be taking care of Christine right now?"

"Oncle Louis, she's sleeping right now. Your conversation was… quite melodic! I think I can write a composition based on it!"

"A composition? Based on our conversation?"

"Yes, Oncle Louis. I think that some people will actually like it, non? So much emotion into it." He turned to face the now alert Gustave. "Oncle, may I please borrow some of your composition paper?"

Gustave barely nodded, surprised by the excitement on Erik's face. Erik happily left the living room, all while humming to the tune of their conversation.

"H-how is Christine, anyway?" Gustave finally managed to muster out.

"Christine is fine," Louis retorted. "Fortunately, I was making my way to your house when Erik burst into tears, crying that Christine seemed hungry, that she was restless, that she wouldn't stop crying unless he sang for her. From what Erik told me, the moment he placed the bottle into her mouth, she drank like a man without water for days. Where were you, exactly, when your family needed you most?"

"I—"

"You should have fully known that Erik could not go outside to get the things Christine needs. What you all need. Shame on you."

"I… I wish Hannah was still here," he lamented. "Everything I see in this house reminds me of her…"

"And you don't suppose Erik misses her as well? Even though he has been through so much within such a short span of time, he managed to stay strong. You know, he too is lamenting on the loss of Hannah, and what could have been! He had convinced himself just now that the reason for your depression was due to his corpse-like face. I hope you are aware of that."

"He what?" Gustave gasped. He had not anticipated that Erik would think in such a way, especially considering his cheerful mood just moments ago.

"That's not all," Louis added. "He even begged me to kill him, he contemplated suicide as well."

"No… no… my fault…"

"Get yourself together this instant!" He again slapped Gustave's cheek with force. "You have a family to take care of! Don't you dare slip away when they need you most! Especially Erik. You should be fully aware that his mentality is still quite shaken from his time with the gypsies, and his memories with Hannah are returning. He needs you more than ever."

"But he has you," Gustave whispered dejectedly. "He wants you…"

"On contrary, I think he is most attached with you, Gustave."

"You… you do realize that you and Erik speak somewhat similar, do you, Louis? Your very passion into your arguments, the way your eyes are blazing amber right now…"

"I did not ask for your opinion on me and Erik," Louis snapped, "this is about you. You must contact the cemetery. We cannot have Hannah remaining here forever."

"It still won't make me forget all that has happened in this house… all of our fights… our moments… our memories… I don't think I can live with it."

"Then move out," he suggested. "Go out to the seashore; get a new glimpse in life. Start a new life, mourn for Hannah all you want, and then perhaps return back to this house when you are ready."

Gustave thought about that, slowly shook his head. "I do not have enough money to do so."

"Nonsense. You had two jobs, Gustave. Surely all you earned would be enough to move out to the countryside? I hear the land there is really cheap."

"Now you really are trying to get me out of Paris, aren't you?"

"Perhaps," he replied slyly. "You need a break. The city life is not that good for mourning. I suggest you contact the Père Lachaise Cemetery right now. The sooner this is over with, the better for Erik and Christine. They need you."

"You're right." He abruptly got up, only to wince and collapse back on the couch due to the sudden movement of his stiff joints. "I must make things right. Merci, Louis. Where would I be without you?"

Louis snorted. "You would be dead next to Hannah, and Erik and Christine would starve to death."

XXXX

 _21 February 1864_

The day of Hannah's funeral arrived, much too soon for Gustave's liking. When Hannah's body was removed for autopsy a week ago; According to the reports, Hannah died from a combination of influenza and exhaustion due to childbirth. It took all his strength not to interfere when her body was taken away; instead, he spent his time combing the French countryside, searching for a suitable cottage to live while he got over the loss of his beloved. Sometimes, brought Erik and Christine along to see the potential homes.

"Oncle? Where are we going?" Erik asked curiously, the first time they left the flat.

"We… we are going to live somewhere else for now," Gustave slowly replied, as the carriage rattled over the gravel pavement. "Somewhere where we can let time fly by… somewhere where I can accept Tante's death." He turned away from Erik; he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

Erik shifted the sleeping Christine upon his chest and patted Gustave's arm in understanding. "I… I understand, Oncle. I can't seem to accept Tante's death either. Perhaps this will help us say goodbye…"

Gustave shook his head, coming back to the present time. Church service had just ended, and the funeral procession for Hannah had begun. Decked out in all black, Gustave, Erik, and the tiny Christine led the procession, Gustave looking defeated, while Erik shielded the baby from the rain that was slowly falling. Louis and Antoinette trailed after them.

No one heeded to Erik's mask today. Everyone was too busy staring at Gustave.

Fortunately, most of the attendees at the funeral service were fellow opera people—they came to pay their respects to the prima donna who never completely took flight.

After the funeral service, Gustave, Erik (and Christine), Louis, and Antoinette remained behind, sitting in front of Hannah's newly buried grave. They remained silent for what seemed forever, huddled underneath two umbrellas.

"Erik," Louis finally interrupted, "perhaps you can play for us what you have been so busy composing?" He hoped that Erik's new composition, which only he had heard, might allow them all to move beyond her death.

"But Oncle Louis, I don't have my violin with me…"

Somehow, Louis managed to extract Erik's violin from behind his back.

"H-how did you…?"

Louis chuckled. "I simply hid it behind my back and put on this thick overcoat, Erik."

Nodding numbly, Erik took out the violin. Gustave and Antoinette looked at the boy curiously, wondering what he would do. Blushing slightly after removing his mask, he simultaneously began to play and sing. Louis joined in with Erik's voice after the first verse, contrasting Erik's angelic voice significantly with his tenor's. They alternated between the lines.

" _You were once, my one companion…"_

" _You were all that mattered…"_

" _You were once… a friend of my past…"_

" _Then our worlds were shattered."_

" _Wishing you were somehow here again,_

 _Wishing you were somehow near._

 _Sometimes it seems, if we just dreamed,_

 _Somehow you would be here._

 _Wishing we could hear your voice again…_

 _Knowing that we never would…_

 _Dreaming of you… won't help us to do_

 _All that you dreamed we could…"_

" _Passed the bells and sculpted angels,_

 _Cold and monumental…"_

" _Seem for you, the wrong companions…"_

" _You_ _were warm… and gentle."_

Louis paused while Erik played his slow violin solo. Gustave was moved to tears. Their voices contrasted so well, it seemed unnatural. Antoinette as well was in awe with their voices.

" _Too many years!"_

" _Fighting back tears!"_

" _Why can't the past just die?"_

" _Wishing you were somehow here again,_

 _Knowing we must say goodbye…"_

" _Try to forgive, teach Christine and I to live,_

 _Give me the strength to try…"_

" _No more memories, no more silent tears,_

 _No more gazing across, the wasted years…_

 _Help us say… goodbye…"_

Gustave knew what was next. He whispered, as they sang the final verse,

" _Help us say… good…bye…"_

"That was beautiful, Erik," Antoinette said tearfully as Erik's last note died out.

"Thank you, Madame Giry," Erik quietly replied. He did not want her opinion though. He wanted Gustave's.

Gustave continued to stare at Erik, in awe with what _he,_ a little boy of just nine years old, was able to compose in a week. He was suddenly aware that Erik was waiting for a response.

"It's… it's… I… thank you, Erik," he stuttered out. _God, I sounded weak just now. A grown man stuttering at a boy. What are the odds?_ He felt strangely at peace. Almost as if all the pain was gone. He looked down upon his lap to see Christine's eyes gazing at his face. _She's a near replica of Hannah_ , he thought. _Same blond hair, blue eyes… there is not a single trace of my chestnut hair or grey eyes in her at all._ Christine reached up to grab Gustave's nose, curious as to the feature that this man had that Erik did not.

Erik crinkled his face. It hurt to be reminded that he had no nose to speak of.

"So, has the shock worn off yet, Gustave?" Louis gazed upon his friend anxiously.

"I suppose so. I still do not want to stay in Paris however. I think there is a nice cottage down in Cherbourg. It faces the sea and the climate is rather mild."

"You're leaving?" Antoinette was surprised by this revelation. She was kept in the dark about this.

Louis grinned sheepishly. "Gustave really wanted to spend some time alone, away from all that reminds him of Hannah, to mourn her with the two kids. He has the funds to do so for perhaps five years."

"Why don't you take care of the kids, Louis?"

"Does it look like my flat has enough room for more than one occupant? Have you seen my salary?" The emerald eyes turned amber as Louis's face deepened into a deep shade of red, anger venting out of his body like steam.

"I-I understand. It's just… my child will be born in maybe two months. I will be alone until you return, Gustave."

"Nonsense, I'm still around," Louis retorted.

"Non, you need to make sure Gustave does not relapse back into his ways! He will need some monitoring. And I'm sure Erik would love to continue to be your pupil."

"That's true," Gustave admitted. "I fear I will in fact relapse accidentally…"

"Oncle Louis! You must bring me some more books during our time in Cherbourg!"

Christine cried out as if she too were making a request. Everyone laughed at her cry. "Even she wants something from you," Gustave chuckled softly.

The angered eyes gradually faded back to emerald as Louis raised his hands in mock surrender. "I give up. I certainly am going to be a messenger for some time."

XXXX

 _24 February 1864_

"Erik! Are you ready to leave?"

"Wait up, Oncle! I still have not completed sorting through all my books and compositions!" Erik was racing to get everything organized. Today was the day they were moving out to the house by the sea. He could hardly wait to see the new house, begin anew. Looking around his soon to be former room, he could see Gustave's reasoning behind the move. Everything seemed to scream Tante's name. It was depressing to think about.

Shaking his head, he began placing his sheets of composition paper into a makeshift folder. _'Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again', 'His Work and Nothing More'_ , and, most chillingly, _'Safe and Sound'_ were among the compositions he decided to bring along. Why? Erik didn't know himself. Probably so he would never again forget Tante.

Gustave peered into Erik's room, Christine sleeping on his shoulder. "Erik? It's time to go," he said softly.

"One moment, Oncle. I am getting my papers and books ready. I am almost done." He quickly placed the makeshift folder into the trunk that Gustave had purchased, and slammed the lid. Unfortunately, he could not lift the trunk; it was too heavy, and Erik had not gained much weight nor any muscle in the past two months. "Oncle? Can you carry this to the carriage?"

Gustave passed Christine over to Erik and tried lifting the trunk himself. He barely lifted it off of the ground before it became too heavy for even him to carry. "Erik, what did you place in here?" he panted.

"Oncle? I merely placed all the textbooks Oncle Louis gave me." Erik gave Gustave a confused glance. "Is something wrong, Oncle?"

"Erik, you do know Louis is just borrowing the books from the library, non? He has to return it soon. We can just leave them here for him to return."

"Oh… okay."

"Don't worry Erik, I'm sure he will purchase some new textbooks for you if you wish."

They slowly removed all of the library textbooks from the trunk; Gustave felt the weight of the trunk become perhaps 24 kilograms lighter. For the only thing left in Erik's trunk was his compositions, his art supplies, and his clothing.

After storing the trunk in the carriage, Gustave and Erik made one final check on their house. "I must remind Louis to return those books," Gustave mused. "I certainly don't want anyone to be penalized for the late fees…"

The empty shell of a house was all that remained of the quiet Daaé household. Yet, somehow, Hannah's presence lingered like fog. The result was nearly suffocating. Erik and Gustave mutually agreed that perhaps moving out to the sea side would be the best action for both of them.

"Come on Erik, let's go." Gustave was just about ready to lock the front door, when Erik panicked. Pulling the door open and ignoring Christine's cries for having been woken up, he cried out,

"Ah! My violin! I forgot my violin!"

* * *

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

"Your Work and Nothing More" from _Jekyll and Hyde_ is used during Louis's and Gustave's one-sided conversation, albeit slightly modified for the situation.

Additionally, "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" from Andrew Lloyd Webber's _The Phantom of the Opera_ is used during the cemetery scene. The verses alternate between Erik, Louis, and  both (in italics and underlined).

If anyone is bored on this website, I suggest they read "The Beauty Underneath" by MomoxDerpy. I've helped her with editing and the plot so far is great!

Any other reviews and comments are welcomed.


	16. Ch 15: Cherbourg

**Chapter 15: Cherbourg**

 _25 November 1867_

Gustave sat upon his rocking chair, gazing at the calm sea, an illuminated bright orange as the sun set. He wondered where the children had run off to while he slept. He pondered on all that had occurred in the past three years, the three years without Hannah.

Three years. He had not anticipated the years to pass by so quickly. To him, it seemed only yesterday that Hannah was buried underground. Indeed, not much had changed in the past three years. He was without a job, living off of his vast savings, doing nothing more but spending the days with the children. He gained a few gray hairs; his stubble of a beard grew slightly longer, his moustache as thin as before.

The only ones who had truly changed during the time were Christine and Erik.

Erik was gaining height rapidly; for a boy of 13 years of age, he was fast approaching Gustave's height. Perhaps a mere a foot and a half off of Gustave's imposing height of 6 feet and 2 inches. Although he remained quite thin in appearance, which continued to persist regardless to the amount of food Gustave made Erik eat, he had also gained strength; Erik's bony hands alone could grip like a vice, never letting go.

This proved to be very hard for Gustave; although Erik had significantly mellowed, he still occasionally had his violent outbursts, sparked out of the blue, that lasted for hours. It took all of Gustave's efforts to prevent Erik from harming himself. Afterwards, both man and boy would be too exhausted to do anything more. Each day however, these outbursts became less and less likely.

Perhaps it was due to Christine.

At just three years old, Christine was quite fearless. At least, to Erik she was. Christine grew up fully aware that Erik's face was not natural, but she didn't care one bit. Erik was Erik, and that certainly did not change her opinion on him. If anything, it only brought them closer, for even in his outbursts, Erik dared not to touch her.

"Pére!" the door burst open as Christine ran into her father's arms, kissing him upon the cheek. Gustave smiled gently and looked down upon his daughter, blue eyes meeting grey.

"What is it, Christine?"

"Ewik found bee's nest in tree!"

"He did now? What did you do?"

"I wanted to twouch it, but Ewik say no."

"Bees are dangerous sometimes, Christine. They don't want you to invade your house. They will sting you if you try to mess with it. What would you do if someone entered our house and tried to hurt us?"

"I… I be wery angwy, Pére."

"Do you understand why Erik told you not to touch the nest now?"

"Yes, Pére…" she looked down shamefully, but as quickly as that occurred, her face brightened up again. "But Ewik wet me watch! It was wery fwn to see!"

"Gustave, where do you want me to place these goods?" Louis's voice drifted into the tiny cottage. Both father and daughter turned towards the door to see Louis and Erik carrying bags of goods.

Gustave swore Louis and Erik were becoming more and more alike every day. And not just in physical appearance.

"Oncle, seriously now, where would you like us to place these down?" Erik's voice was borderline impatient. His voice had gained a deeper tone ever since he hit puberty, and now sounded almost identical to Louis's. His angelic voice never changed, however.

"Really now, Gustave, how long do you want us to stand here?" Louis was just as impatient as Erik.

"Ah… just set them upon the counter as always," Gustave dismissed. He turned his attention toward his lovely daughter. "Why don't you go help Oncle Louis and Erik put the food away?"

She nodded eagerly and ran to help them pack up. Gustave sighed and stretched his legs, looking at the scene in the kitchen.

Erik was maskless and was laughing lightly at something Christine said; it was at Christine's whining insistences that he did so at home. Gustave argued towards her favor as well; there were no houses within the nearest vicinity. However, he still chose to wear it whenever he was forced to go outside—always due to Christine—and she never completely understood why he wore the mask outdoors.

Not like Erik or Gustave had the heart to tell her. It would bring back so many painful memories. Besides, she had the basic understanding of it—why else would Erik break down screaming whenever she questioned him?

"Thanks for the help once again, Louis," he called out as Louis prepared to leave the cottage.

Louis winked at Erik as he left, who grinned sheepishly. "I won't be back until next week. I am apparently needed to oversee the Palais Garnier's construction."

If it wasn't for Louis, Gustave wasn't sure how he would've survived the first couple of months here, in the cottage by the sea. He was foolish enough to pick a house far from the nearest town, and he couldn't leave Erik and Christine alone here—thank goodness Louis stepped in and offered his assistance. Gustave turned his attention to the two kids, who were trying to (at least Christine was; Erik was merely being dragged by her) escape the house.

"Now then, Erik and Christine, where on Earth do you think you are going now?"

XXXX

 _Three years._ Louis shuddered inwardly. Lulled into his deep thoughts by the galloping of his horse, he made sure that the reins were secured tightly around his hands. He did not want to risk accidentally falling off.

He provided his assistance to Gustave mainly because it gave him a chance to see Erik. No, even more than just see Erik; to spend time with the boy. For the past three years, he visited each week to bring more and more books of various interests, and took immense pleasure to inform the boy all there was to know.

It was an immense relief he was able to do so each week, as unlike visiting Gustave's flat, it took a full day to get to and return from Cherbourg, even by horse. Every day, there would be new reports filed, new documents that grew exponentially in his office. It was impossible to remain longer than one day at Cherbourg and keep up with the reports. Even worse was the construction at the Palais Garnier. It required a weekly inspection of the site, to assure that the workers were placing all of the materials properly and accurately. He wanted absolute perfection for the building. It was, after all, a combination of his and Erik's design—there were some slight flaws with Erik's sketch, but it didn't take long for Louis to fix them—and he was much willing to see the grand opening of the theatre.

It was surprising that, with each week that passed, the boy was closing in on Louis's own height of 6 feet 6 inches, and was looking more and more like him. Sharing the same voice, the same cold skin, the naturally slicked-back dark brown hair… heck, their very personality was beginning to match up. Of course, Erik's face… Louis shook his head. _No. It didn't matter then, it didn't matter now, it never did matter to me._ With the exception of his face, Erik would have had such a striking resemblance to Louis… it bothered him so.

 _What is my relation with this boy? Is it something much more than just a mere coincidence?_ Louis would have wanted to learn more about Erik Mulheim, where he came from… but that would take forever. For now, there were just too many tasks to do, too many priorities, so little time…

Shielding his eyes from the blinding sunset as he steered his horse along the path, he trudged on, still lost in his own lost fantasy.

XXXX

"Aw Pére… I wannna go gwet some bwackbewwies!" little Christine whined. Erik tensed up at those words. Why would the child want to go pick berries at dusk?

"No, Christine. Come back inside, you should go and take a bath now." He gestured at the girl to come back.

"Your father is right, little Lotte," Erik muttered. "It's getting dark out, and it is not suitable for a little girl like you."

Little Lotte. Erik gave Christine the nickname when she was just three months old, still new to the name "Christine". Erik often read to her the old folk tale that Tante herself read to him many times—he learned this part from Gustave—and Christine reacted rather positively whenever he did so. It certainly helped that she shared the same exact physical description of Little Lotte.

Erik dragged the struggling Christine back into the living room, still thinking about Tante.

Tante Hannah.

It still hurt that he would never be able to recount any happy memory with her together. He would quietly cry all night at the thought, which eventually led to the thoughts about the gypsies… By morning, he would wake up and pretend nothing had happened. Gustave didn't know. Christine didn't know. No one knew.

But… she had fortunately left behind a huge stack of journals. He would often sneak them out of Gustave's new study to read them up, gaining an insight on what she was thinking in the past nine years. He saw, just by flipping through some of the faded pages, that she never forgot him, and prayed constantly for his safety. In fact, there was one entry that mentioned her returning to that horrible woman to demand custody of Erik, but failed. For Erik had apparently run away from home.

 _Ah, so that's how I came to be with those gypsies,_ he thought sulkily. _All my fault._ Shaking his head, he turned his head back to the still struggling Christine.

"Your father wishes for you to take a bath, little Lotte, and I do not care whether or not you want to, for I will drag you and not let you out until you are fresh and clean."

"Aw, Ewik," the girl pouted. "No have to fowwow what Pére says. Pway in my woom!"

Erik shook his head reproachingly. "No, Lotte. This is one order I will follow strictly. Look now at your dress," he pointed at her dress with his free hand, "it's caked in mud! Your face has dirt all over it! " Indeed, the soft blue dress had dirt lining the very edges, and dried leaves stuck onto her dress. How her face got dirty, however, was a mystery even Erik could not solve.

"Ewik, no want to!" the girl grinned toothily.

"Then I will not play for you, and nor will your father." He knew that the girl valued their daily evening 'concert', performed only for her. Ever since they had arrived here at the cottage, Erik did not sing again; at least, not with Christine knowledge. Why? He didn't want the girl to think that such an unearthly sound came from a demon like him. Besides, thanks to Gustave's tales about 'the Angel of Music'—which also came from Tante and was the source of the nickname 'little Lotte'—and Erik's expert ventriloquism, Christine believed that the voice was truly the Angel of Music.

"Awight, Ewik. I go to take bwath now." Letting go of her hand, Erik watched the girl head to the bathroom sulkily. Sighing, he turned to Gustave.

"Oncle?"

Gustave, who was busy reading and rereading a letter Antoinette sent nearly three years ago, was shocked to hear Erik calling his name. Setting down the letter on the adjacent table, he replied, "Yes, Erik?"

"Can we talk about Tante tonight?" he asked softly.

Gustave frowned. "Not today, Erik. Not today."

 _Oncle does not want to talk about Tante today,_ Erik sadly thought. "I… Okay, Oncle." He returned to his own room to change, and maybe sneak out one of Tante's journals.

Gustave sighed. It wasn't that he _didn't_ want to talk about Hannah, which he and Erik did almost daily, but the fact that today was his and Hannah's eighth wedding anniversary. He could still hear their vows echoing across the now dark sea. His right hand reached for the wedding ring residing upon his left hand, and twisted the simple golden band longingly.

' _Til death may you part…_

Oh, how cruelly true that was.

XXXX

 _14 February 1869_

"Happy birthday, little Lotte," Erik whispered to the sleeping girl. Whether or not she actually heard him, he did not care. He silently made his way out of her bedroom, not making a single sound. "Morning, Oncle," he greeted Gustave in passing, who was sitting at the kitchen counter and stirring a cup of tea. He did not notice Louis sitting right next to Gustave. "What are we going to do today, Oncle?"

"Ah, Erik."

"Oncle Louis!" Erik gasped, turning around and proceeding back into the kitchen. "I didn't see you here!"

"That's okay, m'boy," Louis chuckled. "There was a lack of reports today, so I found the time to come here."

"And you decided to drag me into your mess," Gustave added, glaring angrily at Louis. "I'd rather not do your paperwork, Louis."

"And you would not like all the supplies I've been buying for you?" Louis growled, his emerald-turning-amber eyes returned Gustave's glare. "I don't have to do it for you, I'm doing it for Erik." he stopped and looked at Erik, who had paled at the mention of his name.

"What do you mean, 'for Erik'?"

"God damn it, Gustave!" Louis slammed his fist against the kitchen counter, causing Erik to jump slightly. "Must you question my every motive? You do this every time I come over here in the past year, and it is just—"

"You come for no appar—"

"It's all for—"

"STOP IT!" Erik yelled out, slamming his own fist against the counter. Panting slightly, he glared at both men, shocked by Erik's outburst. "Stop it, Oncle and Oncle Louis. I don't want to see either of you fight. This is all meaningless." He could feel his tears beginning to fall.

Gustave glanced at Louis, and vice-versa. Neither wanted to admit, but Erik was right. Gustave needed Louis, regardless if he was ready to admit it or not, and Louis…

Quite frankly, he needed help. Badly. It was so hard to juggle the new activities that had come in the past year. Bringing Gustave his much needed supplies, the never ending stacks of reports, the need to be present almost daily at Palais construction site, buying Erik new books (for he typically completed his study of the books within a week), contacting the publisher to publish Erik's new compositions under Erik's actual name, tutoring Erik himself (there was little left to tutor him, their intellect level was nearing so close)… The workload upon him the past year caused his dark brown hair to become streaked with silver. It was painfully obvious to Gustave. Why did he not realize it before?

"…I apologize, I should have realized that you are under immense loads of stress," Gustave mumbled towards Louis. He felt somewhat ashamed at the thought of it. Here he was, alone in the middle of nowhere, spending all of his time with the two kids, while the chief of the Sûreté was basically killing himself with the stress. In response, he waved his hand at him dismissively.

"No need to. I merely hoped that you would help me with these…" he massaged his eyes tiredly. Gustave could see the deep bags underneath his eyes, giving the impression of deep eye sockets.

How so alike he was to Erik.

The three men remained there, motionless, no one daring to make the first move. Eventually, Erik broke the silence.

"Oncle, what do you plan on doing today?"

"Today? The usual, I suppose."

"But Oncle, today is Christine's birthday, don't you remember?"

"Ah, right. I suppose I'll just bake a cake then, as usual."

"But what about me, Oncle? What will I do?"

Gustave shrugged. "I don't know, Erik." In the past, Erik always entertained Christine, distracting her from the inevitable cake. Unfortunately, she found out about the cake after four years of attempted hiding. "Maybe just play with Christine until I am done?"

Erik shook his head. "No, Oncle. I want to purchase her something. Her first gift. But that means I will have to go to town, and since you are baking a cake…"

"I'll go with you," Louis offered. "Nothing will happen; no one will dare do anything in my presence."

"Oh, thank you , Oncle Louis! Can we go now?"

"Sure." Louis rose from his stool as Erik hurried back into his room to get his mask in place. He turned to Gustave. "I hope you don't mind doing me a favor, Gustave."

"I will, I promise…"

"Let's go, Oncle Louis!" the boy called out impatiently at the door, beckoning for Louis to come join him. Louis took his cloak and hat, and left the house. He saddled his horse and mounted it, motioning for Erik to sit in front of him. Unsure what to do, Erik obeyed. Louis snapped the reins, and they began their trip to town.

"So… what do you want to purchase for Christine, Erik?"

Erik was deep in thought. He thought about his previous conversations with Christine as 'the Angel of Music'. Surprisingly, despite her curious nature, she never found out the source of the voice. "I think… I think I would like to purchase her a scarf. Ack, but I don't have any money, Oncle Louis!"

"Of course you do, don't you remember? We split up the profits for the Palais Garnier."

"But Oncle—"

Louis sighed. "No buts, Erik. That money is ours, whether or not you accept it. Besides, your compositions have been selling well as well."

"They have?"

"You should see Paris—everyone is crazed about the new composer who goes by the name 'Erik Mulheim'!" He ruffled the boy's hair—the boy was just a couple of inches off of Louis's height of 6 foot 6 inches—and grinned happily at Erik. "I am proud to say that you have quite a large sum in your bank account now."

"How much?" Erik was curious to see exactly how much his works have earned him, the faceless composer.

"About 100,000 francs, Erik. Each of your compositions made around 10,000 francs."

Erik's mind swam. His ten compositions, which he created over a span of five years, earned him an equivalent to a lower-end aristocrat!

They entered the town, where the civilians were preparing to go to church and attend mass. Most cast furtive glances at the nervously-fidgeting Erik, but did nothing else about it; they dared not do so when a uniformed officer was accompanying such a suspicious person.

"Oncle Louis? Do… do you… know where…?"

"Calm down, Erik. They won't do anything with me around." He gripped the boy's hand reassuringly while nudging his head towards the people. "And I know a place where we can buy that scarf."

"Really, Oncle Louis? Let's… let's hurry and leave this town. I… I don't like how they stare at me alone." Erik had a point. Those people looked at the mask before realizing the imposing officer. Louis shrugged.

"Very well, Erik." He led him to the sole store that sold scarves. "Morning, Monsieur."

The shopkeeper bowed slightly, eyes cast on Erik's mask. "Morning, officer." He tried to look away from the mask, but to no avail. "Who's the man beside you?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Do you have a problem with him?" Louis lashed out, as Erik clutched Louis's hand tightly.

"In fact, I do, officer. Why does he wear a mask, yet wear such elegant clothing? He looks like a criminal, and I feel threatened."

Louis hated to admit that the shopkeeper had a point; Erik did indeed resemble a mastermind thief with his classy look—perhaps that was his intent. "No, Monsieur, I assure you that he is not dangerous at all. This is my son, after all." _Crap, I've done it now._

Erik stared at Louis in shock by the sudden proclamation. Fortunately, the shopkeeper failed to notice Erik's reaction (and his facial expression) and was instead gaping at Louis.

"I-I…"

"Leave us be, Monsieur. We came only to purchase a scarf. Can you show us where your scarves are?" Still moving his mouth wordlessly, he pointed towards the corner of the store, then stepped outside for some fresh air.

"Oncle Louis? What was the meaning of that statement?" Erik anxiously asked the moment the door shut. He picked up several scarves, evaluating each one before setting them down disapprovingly.

"No reason, Erik. But people these days are less likely to be suspicious if you claim to be of the same flesh and blood. What better way to avert suspicion than to claim to be a respected officer's son?" Deep down though, Louis had always wanted to call the boy his 'son'. "Although, this should be a one-time thing; men should not have to hide beneath someone else's shadow."

Erik frowned. "Unfortunately, Oncle Louis, you fail to remember than I am not a man. That gypsy…" He dropped the next scarf he was evaluating and wrapped his arms tightly around his body.

"I can't change that Erik. But that certainly does not make you any less human. Anyone can go through that experience… I get so many reports about it every day, be it from a man or woman. You must let your past go, or else…"

The door opened as the shopkeeper reentered, and Louis suddenly broke off his conversation as Erik hastily tried to appear less suspicious, picking up the scarf he had dropped. The shopkeeper remained oblivious to their conversation.

"No… no… Ah, this one…" Erik picked up a long, rose-red scarf with intricate green and golden designs laced onto it. To him, it reminded him of a beautiful rose in sunlight. He turned to Louis, who was watching him intently for any sign of relapse, and handed him the scarf. "What do you think, Pére?"

"Hmm? Ah… that one…" To be honest, Louis had liked that scarf as well. It reminded him of… something. And Erik's decision to play along with his story… he could feel his heart about to burst open at being called 'pére'. "Yes, it looks great."

"Can we buy this one, Pére? I think she will like it very much."

"Indeed, she will." They made their way back to the front of the store. Louis handed the scarf to the shopkeeper. "We would like to purchase this scarf."

"This one? Oh no, officer. This one is not for sale."

"What do you mean, 'not for sale'? Why ever would it not be for sale if I found it in your store, on your shelf?"

The shopkeeper mumbled something incomprehensible, with only the word 'freak' actually heard; just the mere mention of the word caused Louis to snap. He grabbed the man's collar and pulled him closer, the counter being the only thing separating them.

"Look here, Monsieur. I could easily arrest you for denying me and my son a product that you claim is only available for your so called 'normal' clients. Just sell me the damned scarf already, and you won't be jailed," Louis threatened menacingly.

The shopkeeper was trapped. He could do nothing more but gaze at those amber eyes of the officer—and of the masked figure. _They truly do look like father and son,_ he realized. He had thought that the officer was merely lying about being the father, but he seemed much mistaken. "V-v-v-very well, officer, I-I shall sell it to you."

Louis slackened his grip on the man's collar and demanded, "How much?"

"J-just 60 francs, officer."

"Thank you." Louis forked over the money and abruptly left the store, Erik trailing behind.

"…See Oncle Louis? That didn't stop him from denying me."

"No," Louis sighed. "It didn't."

"But at least they did not hurt me…"

They continued walking down the street in complete silence, Erik stroking the scarf gently, Louis coming up with ways on how to protect the boy.

"Should we buy a bag?" Erik suddenly asked. "Or a box? It would seem more like a present…"

"Of course, Erik."

"… or it could be where I stuff myself into when I die."

"ERIK!"

"Just kidding…"

Whether or not Erik was truly messing around with Louis, he didn't show.

XXXX

"Shh… Oncle Louis, you're making a lot of noise!"

"Well, it's not my fault that I have to wear these leather boots as uniform, is it?"

"But I'm wearing dress shoes," Erik pointed out, "and they make about as much noise as a leather boot."

Why did the boy have to make this so complicated? Louis swore that he was making absolutely no noise—everyone claimed that he moved as quietly as a shadow. Whether or not the boy had sharp hearing…

They entered the cottage and were instantly greeted by Christine's squeal.

"Oncle Louis! Ewik! You're back! I heard the boots!" Erik glanced at Louis smugly, giving Louis the impression, 'I told you so'. "Where did you go, Ewik?"

"Oncle Louis and I didn't go anywhere," he replied, as Christine snatched the mask off of his face.

"You're not telling me of something," she accused, pointing playfully at Erik. "Do, tell me, Ewik!"

"I won't until you tell me about your day so far." Erik used his stern voice that he often used at Christine ever since he began to tutor her on reading, writing, and mathematics.

"Um… Pére woke me up around 9 o'clock, and we read the Bible until noon. Then he began baking the cake, while I just read some books." She paused and looked at Erik. "Ewik, you haven't wished me happy birthday yet!"

"Erik has, Christine. He did so while you were sleeping." Gustave walked into the living room, wearing an apron that was covered in flour. With a look at Louis, he asked, "Can I hope that you bought lunch? My hands were quite busy with this troublesome cake…"

"We didn't eat at all, Ewik!"

"Lotte, we didn't either, you know."

"Gustave, we did, actually. Erik, take them out." Erik took out a couple of sandwiches from within Louis's satchel, which Louis had placed onto the table moments before, and handed one out to everyone. "How's the cake going, Gustave?"

Gustave sighed. "It's going on well enough, I suppose. The fire in the oven wouldn't stay burnt for long, so…" He shook his head. "In the end, I got it to bake, and I just finished frosting it. We'll cut the cake after we eat." He motioned for the men and Christine to join him in the kitchen, where he had cleared out the center table for them to sit and place the sandwiches.

Louis and Gustave ate in relative silence, while Christine and Erik giggled at Gustave's humorous appearance.

"Ewik! You still haven't told me what you did in town!"

"I didn't do anything, little Lotte…"

"You had to have done something, Ewik! You've never been to town befwore! What did you do, what did you hear?"

A shadow formed on Erik's face as his hand began to tremble. Sensing Erik's sudden change in mood, Louis interrupted, "Perhaps we should cut open the cake now."

"Yes, yes, I agree," Gustave was eager to not provoke Erik any further. "Christine, why don't you get the plates ready?"

"But Pére—"

"Please, Christine."

"Okay, Pére…"

As she left to get the plates, Louis patted Erik on the back re-assuredly, as Erik gradually calmed down. Gustave left to take out the cake from the icehouse.

Christine and Gustave returned at the same time with the plates and cake, respectively. As they sang happy birthday to Christine and ate cake, Erik took a deep breath and handed Christine the box.

"Here, little Lotte... Happy birthday."

"A present? Ewik, thank you!" She quickly opened up the box and was taken back by the red scarf. "Ewik, it's beautiful! Thank you!" She proceeded to give him a quick hug.

Erik never felt more embarrassed in his life. The first girl to hug him was nearly 10 years younger than he was.

* * *

'Pére' is 'father' in French.

Next up: The fop!

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

If anyone is bored on this website, I suggest they read "The Beauty Underneath" by MomoxDerpy. I've helped her with editing and the plot so far is great!

Any other reviews and comments are welcomed.


	17. Ch 16: The Aristocrats

**Chapter 16: The Aristocrats**

 _12 March 1869_

"Are we there yet?" the twelve year old boy questioned.

"Yea, grandpére, grandmére, you said we would arrive hours ago!" the boy's fifteen year old brother piped up.

"Not yet, Raoul, Philippe," the grandmother sighed. "Auderville is very far away from Paris, you know." She cast a glance on her husband of nearly thirty years, who was silently watching the countryside go by in the carriage. "We would have been closer to our summer house if you boys hadn't kept on requesting for a break every hour."

"Grandmére, we're bored and our feet are cramped," Raoul complained.

"Come on, little brother, let's go outside! I dare you to follow me!" the older boy, Philippe, opened the carriage door and jumped out.

"Philippe!"

"PHILIPPE!"

Raoul and their grandmother yelled out after the boy.

"MONSIEUR, STOP THE CARRIAGE!"

The carriage slowed down to a halt. Seeing the lack of change in scenery, their grandfather looked back at his wife and grandchild…ren.

"Now what is going on?" he grumbled, although he already knew the answer. Philippe, the daredevil grandson of his, must have surely jumped out of the carriage again. This was perhaps his thirteenth time during the ride to the summer house that he jumped. _Curse Marie-Jean, why did she have to go to that stupid business trip with her husband? Now I have to take care of these whining snobs…_

"Grandpére!" Raoul was pulling at his arm. "Punish him, grandpére. Maybe then he won't try it again."

His grandfather smiled. _Okay, perhaps less of a snob, the younger one._ Raoul looked so much like him—with the exception of his brown-turning-gray hair in comparison to the boy's blond locks. "Alright, help me up."

The boy pulled and pulled, yet his grandfather remained seated, unmoving. "Come on, grandpére! Now's not the time to play games! Grandmére already left to go confront Philippe—if she reaches there first, she won't let you punish him!"

"She what?" Sure enough, his wife was no longer in the carriage. He abruptly got up. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!" Grandfather and grandson exited the carriage and ran to the two distant figures. As they approached, they could hear sobs coming from one of them, while the other was practically scolding at the crying figure.

"…I TOLD YOU NOT TO JUMP OUT OF THE CARRIAGE! NOW LOOK AT YOU!" her face was scarlet red from yelling at Philippe. Philippe's arms were wrapped around his left leg, which was twisted abnormally.

"Gran… grandmére… it hurts…" he cried.

"Well," their grandfather pulled Raoul aside while chuckling slightly, "perhaps we are too late for the scolding."

"I think we are," Raoul grinned at his older brother, who was howling at full volume. "Oh cheer up Philippe; it could have been way worse."

Whether or not Raoul was trying to comfort Philippe, it did nothing but make him cry harder.

"Snap out of it, Philippe. Let this be a lesson for you."

The boy ignored his grandfather's words and continued bawling.

"SERVES YOU RIGHT! WHAT DID I TELL YOU NOT TO DO JUST 45 MINUTES AGO? DO YOU SEE WHAT TYPE OF INJURIES YOUR ACTIONS CAN LEAD—"

"Ma douce, I think that is enough now. I'm sure Philippe has learned his lesson." He reached out for his wife, silently bidding her to stop this before any passerby came along. Wasn't it already awkward enough for four members of the higher class to be out in the middle of nowhere?

His wife swatted his approaching hand away, but finally stopped her rampage. She turned to her husband, realizing that her very actions right now were dragging out any time to tend to Philippe and to the arrival at their summer house.

"We must return to the carriage now. Someone must tend to his leg." The grandfather lifted the crying Philippe, and the family returned back to the carriage.

"Monsieur? Can you get the medical supplies? Our grandson injured himself." The coachman nodded and retrieved the supplies.

Setting Philippe down on the carriage seat, his grandfather examined the boy's leg. Not only was he a war hero during the French Revolution of 1848, but he was also highly familiar with the medical field as a result of his near-death situation all those years ago…

All to pay homage to the man who not only gave up his daughter, but also his very life-force for their happiness. For without him, he would be dead and forgotten.

"You merely broke your fibula," the grandfather dismissed. Turning towards the coachman, he asked, "can you also get a ruler from the boys' trunks?" The coachman again nodded and got the ruler.

 _How fortunate I made the boys bring along their study materials._ Taking the bandages from the supply kit and the ruler that the coachman handed him, he wrapped Philippe's legs and bandaged them together. "Don't you dare move your left leg," he ordered. "Lest you wish the chances of you walking again be reduced to none."

Philippe nodded tearfully. He would not dare do so if that meant he would never be able to walk again. The life of a handicapped person… no aristocrat wanted that. And he, the next in line for the title Comte de Chagny…! It would've been a disgrace.

Grinning smugly at his accomplished work, the grandfather replaced the bandages back in the kit and handed it over to the coachman. After hoisting himself up upon the carriage, he extended his arm to his wife and grandon. "Come now, ma duoce, Raoul, let's be on our way." The grandmother accepted the hand first, followed by the boy. "We're ready, Monsieur," he ordered. The coachman nodded and closed the door. Within seconds, the carriage was on its way again.

Philippe fell asleep the moment the carriage started to roll—he was too tired from crying, and quite frankly, it would erase the pain in his leg. The grandparents and Raoul sat in silence for a while, not knowing what to say.

"So grandpére, what are we going to do when we get to Auderville?"

"Must you always ask? I've told you many times already, Raoul."

"But grandpére… you never discussed what we would do there! I have never seen the summer house before. I have no idea what it will be like, what we can do," the boy huffed.

"Because we will do whatever is deemed appropriate at the time, Raoul. Stop asking questions already, you're driving me sick." The grandfather was feeling queasy. Talking while inside a vehicle always made him feel like puking. He turned away from the boy and stared out the window—he found out long ago that if he did so, the queasiness subsided—willing for the boy to stop talking to him.

Defeated, Raoul turned to his grandmother. "Grandmére? Where are we anyway? Do tell me."

"We're in Cherbourg right now, sweetie. We should be in Auderville in about 2 hours or so, unless you want to stop and eat lunch somewhere." She turned towards her husband, who was gazing out towards the sea. "What do you think, ma douce?"

"Mmhm? Anything is fine," he said dismissively. "As long as I don't have to stay in this blasted carriage."

"Then it's settled then. We will stop at Cherbourg and have a picnic of sorts. That would be nice, don't you think, Raoul?"

"A picnic? Outside? Why can't we just simply stay in this carriage and eat? Or perhaps eat in a restaurant? We have the money to do so, no?"

 _Slap._ The grandmother slapped Raoul firmly across the cheek. "Raoul Marc de Chagny! I have told you many times that I will not tolerate your noble air!"

"But Pére—"

"And that is why I hate your Pére," the grandfather remarked coldly, gaze never leaving the window. He had strongly opposed his daughter's marriage to that aristocratic bastard. But who was he to deny his daughter's wishes…?

After all, his wife's adopted father had had the same choice to make all those years ago. A choice that in the end killed him.

 _No, I must not think about that. I had wronged him so… I am the blame of his death… even she thinks so…_

"But grandpére, there is nothing wrong with Pére's words. They are true."

"Shut up, boy." _I was wrong. They are snobs in their own right._

Frowning, Raoul turned back to his grandmother, wearing a look of disdain upon her face. "I thought I raised you better than that, Raoul. Here I was, thinking that you might enjoy the fresh air and enjoy simple food, and you just had to—"

Whatever she was going to say next was cut off by her scream, for the carriage came to a screeching halt suddenly and slumped backwards, sending Raoul and the sleeping Philippe across their seats into their grandparents' laps, while the grandparents were pressed back into their seats. Raoul let out a scream of laughter while Philippe, having landed with his wrapped foot slammed against his grandfather's knee, woke up and let out a howl of pain. Swearing under his breath, his grandfather lifted Philippe off of him and replaced him back upon the opposite seat. He knelt down and checked back upon the injured leg. _Nothing's wrong, the ruler took the brunt of the impact. And the ruler is still intact._

"Monsieur le Baron," the coachman's voice grew louder as he dismounted the front seat and made his way to the side of the carriage. "I must apologize… it seems like the back two wheels have disintegrated." He opened the carriage door and was shocked by the states of his employees. Yes, they were disheveled, but the aura in the carriage… it indicated that they had been in some heated argument moments before. He held out his hand, offering them out of the carriage.

The grandmother accepted the offer and stepped down. Raoul followed. The moment she stepped onto the grass-choked pavement, she noticed that, indeed, the rear wheels had collapsed. _No, not collapsed; broken off._ Only a portion of each wooden wheel remained intact. She turned to the silent coachman. "Where exactly are we?"

"Madame le Baroness, we are approximately 20 kilometers away from the town of Cherbourg."

"How long will it take for you to fix the wheel?"

"Madame, I cannot say. I do not carry any spare wheels, and I do not know if the town has the exact size of the tires. Even worse, Cherbourg is a small town. You will not find any coachmen or spare carriages there."

"Can you not dismount one of your horses and ride to the town?" she motioned her small hand towards the two horses that were standing idly, awaiting further instruction.

The coachman shook his head. "Unfortunately, I cannot. All of my tools used to uncouple the horses from the carriage are back in Paris. In order to make it to the next town, I must ask that you and your husband ride on the horses. The horses will not be able to pull any more weight than necessary. The lack of the rear wheels will make their labor harder. I could potentially move your luggage up front to try and balance out the center of gravity, but I won't be able to do any more. I am so terribly sorry, Madame," he said sadly.

"But Monsieur! You know that my husband and I cannot ride a horse, much less one that has not been saddled!"

"Where will I go, Monsieur?" Raoul piped up. The coachman frowned.

"Perhaps I must think of an alternative. I am willing to walk with your family to find a friendly household that will accommodate you while I return to Paris for supplies and repairs. Is that okay with you?"

"A household? Here? In the middle of nowhere?" she let out an amused laugh. "I highly doubt there will be anyone out here, Monsieur. But I am willing to do as you have suggested. As long as you walk with us and our belongings are not lost."

"You have my word," he agreed. "But I must insist that your husband and other grandson also disembark from the carriage."

She nodded, and moments later her husband stood beside her on the pavement, looking annoyed yet relieved. She had explained their situation and he was all too eager to leave the damned vehicle. Philippe, on the other hand, had to be supported by his grandfather and younger brother. After relocating the luggage towards the front, the five walked next to the broken carriage along the path, searching for any possible household.

To Raoul, this was the most humiliating experience he had ever felt. Here he was, walking alongside a carriage like a farmer does with a bull and plow. _Ugh. Commoners._

For what seemed like minutes, they encountered nothing but grass, scattered blackberry shrubs, and the sea. Finally, when Raoul felt that he would rather die than walk around like so, they heard the sound of a violin playing, accompanied by voices.

Curious, they approached the source of the sound.

XXXX

 _About 30 minutes earlier…_

"Let's go, Pére! I want to gather more bwackberries today!" Christine jumped up and down excitedly in front of the door, basket swinging in her hands and releasing a stream of other words in Swedish. Erik stood next to her, fully masked and was tapping his left foot in impatience.

"Aren't you ever tired of picking berries, ma chérie? This is going to be your fourth basket this week."

The small family now spoke exclusively Swedish inside their household, peppered with French phrases; to Gustave, it was comfortable, for Erik it was just another language he mastered, and for Christine it was her first. Of course, with Louis around, they spoke French, but otherwise…

"Pére! I did not go yesterday or the day befwore! I went on Monday and Tuesday becwuse Oncle Louis was here on yesterday, and it rained on Wednesday! I only got three baskets," she pouted.

"She's right, Oncle. You know she loves going berry picking four times a week," Erik chimed in.

"Very well then," Gustave sighed. He took his violin and followed his two young protégées out of the house. They walked through the grass and quickly came upon the huge often-visited patch of blackberry bushes. The two men sat down on the grass as Christine ran about from bush to bush, plucking the berries and placing them in her basket.

Erik had found the huge patches of wild-grown blackberries, strawberries, and raspberries about a year after they settled in Cherbourg. It had become custom for the small family to go berry picking four times a week—at least, Christine would go picking. Gustave and Erik were content to merely watching her run around, gathering the berries. Occasionally, Gustave would bring his violin and play, and if Erik was in a happy mood, become the 'Angel of Music' to Christine using his ventriloquism ability. Today was no exception.

"Erik? Will you be singing today?" Gustave whispered to Erik, inaudible to Christine.

"Yes, Oncle, I think I shall." He quietly answered back.

"What will you be playing, though?" he surveyed his surroundings and found Christine picking a shrub not too far away.

"I was thinking about my piece, 'Broken Home.' Not as the Angel but as a tenor. You do know how the melody, right Oncle?"

"Of course I do."

"Pére! Can you pway for me?" Christine ran up to her father and handed her a basket completely filled to the brim with blackberries.

"You're done picking already? That was fast, Christine."

"Pére! Pwease pway the violin! I want to hear if the Angel of Music is going to be here!"

Erik and Gustave looked at each other and grinned sheepishly. "Very well, Christine." He took out his violin and began playing the beginning verses to Erik's composition.

Christine was instantly mesmerized by the quality of her father's playing, as always. Reaching the climax of the intro, Gustave began to sing in his baritone voice.

" _Who set the stars like diamonds in the sky?_

 _Who let the sea call to me?_

 _When I was lost, I found it in your eyes,_

 _Like a wave sent to me."_

Erik had written the song five years ago primarily for Gustave, who was still depressed at the time, in an effort to bring him back into the current situation. Needless to say, it worked. Erik's tenor voice sang the next lines.

" _I would rather be the one who sets you free,_

 _If only I'd known this house was made of clay,_

 _I would have led you further from the sea."_

" _When I'm with you… it's clear as blue…"_ Gustave looked affectionately at the two before him, but then noticed the bush behind them rustling ever so slightly despite the calm wind. He stopped playing and put the violin down.

"Pére? What's wrong?" Christine was confused by her father's sudden pause.

Erik tensed up; he could tell that there was company. Unwanted company. He quickly wrapped Christine in his arms, and carried her over to Gustave. They hid behind Gustave, Erik hoping that his Oncle would protect them from the intruder, whether it be from good or bad intent.

"Who's there? I demand you to come out of hiding, for I am a standby officer of the Sûreté!" Gustave barked out in French as he rose from the grass.

XXXX

"Who's there? I demand you come out of hiding, for I am a standby officer of the Sûreté!"

"Shit, we've been caught," the coachman turned to the fidgeting Raoul, who was tucked under his grandfather's arm.

"Why did you have to do that? We could be caught for trespassing." the grandfather gasped. Raoul frowned.

"I cannot see what you and the coachman are looking at, and I am the Vicomte de Chagny. They are mere peasants, are they not? Besides, we have the money to be released."

He was answered by a slap to the cheek. "You fool. You are just like your damned Pére…"

"I am warning you, I have a revolver, and I will shoot if you do not show yourselves immediately!" They could hear the faint click of a revolver being loaded.

"You see?" the grandmother hissed. "This is not just a mere peasant. Even so, I am highly disappointed in you, Raoul." She held her hands up in surrender and stepped out from behind the bush, Philippe silent and clinging onto her right hand. She did not know who the coachman and her husband could see—they were the ones peering directly through the bush while she and Philippe remained behind them.

She gasped at who the mysterious threat was.

It was none other than the Gustave Daaé, the famed violinist from the Opéra-Comique, husband of the late Hannah Daaé. He was rumored to have gone into hiding with his daughter after his wife's death, but… never did she imagine that she would have to face him, much less with a revolver pointed directly at her.

Gustave did not lower his revolver. "Who are you?" he barked out. "What is your intention and purpose?"

"Why… why… Monsieur Daaé… what a surprise… I never thought I would accidentally run into you here out of all places…"

"You're trying my patience, Madame. Tell me your name." Gustave was not going to fall for any cheap familiarity trick—his name and photo was everywhere—but nevertheless was surprised by this woman's instant recognition of him.

"Forgive me, Monsieur. My name is Cosette Euphrasie Fauchelevent Pontmercy, and this is Philippe Gautier de Chagny, my grandson." She indicated with her free hand to the boy. "We are here because our carriage malfunctioned and there are no towns or houses within close vicinity to where we were."

Gustave's facial expression remained frozen, but his mind was reeling in with the new information. _Cosette Pontmercy? Philippe de Chagny? Broken carriage far from town?_ His eyes widened slightly. _Le Baron Pontmercy? Is he here as well? No, it must be a lie._ "Sorry, Madame, but I do not yet believe you. Who are you traveling with? Where is your husband? And why did you spy on us?"

"It was my idea," the coachman rose and spoke up. Gustave re-aimed the revolver at the bush, and froze as the coachman raised his hands. "I didn't want my employers to be stuck in the middle of nowhere alone, Monsieur, so I proposed to them an alternative."

"And who the hell are you?"

"Monsieur, my name is Gabin, Gabin Boffrand."

The grandfather chose this time to also rise from behind the bushes, with Raoul still stuck underneath his grandfather's armpit.

Gustave tilted his head in confusion. _How the heck did all these people hide behind a bush? And what's more, why are four of them wearing such rich clothing?_ He could feel Erik trembling from behind, still fearful for what other people, especially the rich, would do to him. Christine remained still, not knowing how to react to a large group of strangers. _Is it possible for these people to truly be who the Madame claimed to be?_ "And who are you?" he finally said, cocking the revolver at the old man's direction.

"Le Baron Marius Georges Pontmercy, at your service," the old man bowed slightly, eyes never leaving Gustave. "or rather, we need your assistance."

Gustave, who was familiar with the old Baron's face because they often ran into each other on the Parisian streets early in the morning, lowered his revolver. "Why, Monsieur le Baron, what brings you out here?"

"So you remember me?" Marius chuckled, loosening his grip on the Vicomte. "It's been five years, Monsieur Daaé. All of Paris are anxiously awaiting your return back, for the replacement violinist at the opera house plays dreadfully." He nodded towards the violin case lying in the grass. "So what exactly are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Hmm…" Gustave tucked the revolver back into his holster. "I came here with my young daughter and my surrogate son to get away from the smothering Parisian life." He humbled with his hands slightly, then made eye contact with the Baron. "And what about you, Monsieur le Baron? What brings you out here to Cherbourg?"

"Same as you, Monsieur Daaé. To get away from Parisian life. I was traveling with my wife and grandkids to my summer house in Auderville when the back wheels to our carriage disintegrated."

"Disintegrated? How so?"

Gabin beckoned for Gustave to follow him. Gustave shook his head.

"No, I shall not move an inch. You somehow bring the carriage here."

Shrugging his shoulders, Gabin pointed at the distant carriage, which was hidden by a branch to anyone who was sitting down. Gustave could see the damage quite clearly now.

"Merde! I see now. How the hell did you…?"

"Well, you see Monsieur, the carriage is barely keeping itself balanced right now. We had to move our luggage around to compensate the broken wheels. But the horses won't have enough force to push all of us to Auderville." Gabin averted his eyes toward a bush. "I cannot uncouple the horses from the carriage, and I only have one spare tire, and…"

"And the town is 18 kilometers from where we are right now," Gustave finished for Gabin. Gabin nodded, turning red in embarrassment. Gustave turned to the Pontmercys, who were standing side-by-side, each holding on to a Vicomte. "I would not mind accommodating your family for now, but I must insist that you do not question my children's… actions."

"Your children? Where are they?" Marius frowned. If the man did indeed have his kids here in the countryside, he should have brought the kids with him everywhere he went.

In response to the Baron's question, Gustave turned around to face the crouched Erik and Christine. "It's alright, Erik, Christine. They won't do anything. Here, I'll help you up," he whispered to Erik in Swedish and offered a hand.

"No Oncle," he whispered back. "Don't let them in… don't let them see…"

"No, Pére!"

"Oncle… they will want to see Erik's face… Erik cannot allow that… Erik cannot let them know… Oncle… why Oncle? Why must you torture me so…?"

"Pére, Ewik doesn't want to meet them. Can't you see, Pére?"

"Sorry, ma chérie, Erik, but I must accept their request. They are one of the most influential families in all of France, and I cannot deny them when they need the help."

Erik glared at Gustave with hurtful eyes, a look of betrayal, and remained crouched down below him. Sighing, Gustave turned back to the Baron and his family, who were puzzled—they did not understand the conversation as it was done completely in Swedish—and were now trying to see what was behind him.

"I apologize, but the children don't want to see you," he said hastily.

"That's all right, Monsieur, I won't—"

"There are CHILDREN here?" Raoul interrupted. He wriggled free from the Baron's grip and ran behind Gustave before anyone could stop him. He found Erik and Christine still shaking and were obviously surprised by his sudden action. The moment he saw Erik's black mask, he thought of a monster… a monster that he could slay to save the little girl it was hugging. "Play with me," he demanded.

"Raoul! You… you… come back here this instant!" the Baron roared. "That was heavily impolite, and I refuse to let this issue slide by—"

"What is her name, Monsieur?" Raoul turned to the shocked Gustave.

Gustave remained silent, while Erik rose abruptly in defeat, running back to the safety of their cottage, tears streaming down his mask. Christine gave Raoul a hateful look and followed Erik.

"Hey! Where are you two going?" Raoul made a dash to follow them, but was stopped by Gustave's iron grip.

"And where the heck do you think you're going, sonny?"

"My name is not sonny, I am the Vicomte de Chagny. Now unhand me Monsieur," Raoul retorted.

"I don't give a damn if you are the Vicomte or another slum from Paris. I want you to respect my children's privacy."

"Raoul, what the hell? They obviously did not want to see you. Why, Raoul, why?" Cosette screamed.

"Really, little brother? Could you not see the boy right beside her? You only referred to the girl." Philippe added weakly. "I bet you were thinking about playing hero with her…"

"Oh, shut it Philippe. You don't understand," Raoul blushed slightly, knowing fully well that his brother was right. He ignored his grandmother's continued rant.

"Monsieur le Baron, I would very much be willing to let you stay… as long as he keeps away from my children." Gustave pointed angrily at Raoul.

"I agree, Monsieur Daaé."

"Very well, Monsieur le Baron, follow me."

Taking hold of Raoul's trembling hands, Marius Pontmercy followed Gustave back to his cottage, his wife, Philippe, the coachman, and the mangled carriage behind him.

"So this is your cottage, Monsieur Daaé?"

"Oui, Madame le Baroness." He opened the front door and led his guests in. "I am sorry that I only have one spare bedroom. I apologize for my lack of space…"

"It's fine, really," Marius replied dismissively. "I don't mind sleeping with my grandchildren. It is your house after all."

After Gabin unpacked the Pontmercy's and the de Chagny's luggage, he bowed awkwardly and said, "I… I'll be continuing onto Auderville now. I think I'll be back in about three days. I bid you all a good day." He left the house.

Gustave proceeded to show the Pontmercys around his house, albeit staying clear of Erik's room. They left Philippe in the living room to rest. The Pontmercys were highly curious to see his children in person, face to face. They had only seen their backs as they ran back to the cottage. The sobs coming from the closed room, however, suggested that perhaps something was amiss.

"Monsieur Daaé, pardon my interruption, but may I know why your children flee upon encountering another person?" Cosette nodded her head in agreement with her husband.

Gustave shook his head sadly. "They are not yet used to people, Monsieur le Baron. As I've mentioned earlier, only one other person has stopped by here their entire life here."

"Well, that explains the girl, but what about the boy? He looks rather old, I would say about your age actually."

"No, no, Madame le Baroness. He is only fourteen years old. Shocking, isn't it?" he added upon seeing the shocked look on their faces. "He doesn't trust people in general. As I mentioned, he is only my surrogate son. He has seen and experienced so many horrors at such a young age."

"What are their names?"

"My daughter's name is Christine, and the boy's is Erik Mulheim."

The name sounded unmistakably familiar to Marius. "Erik Mulheim? The mysterious composer?"

"Yes, the Erik Mulheim. My friend brings his works to Paris to be published. Erik is a genius for his age, Monsieur le Baron," Gustave heaved his chest proudly.

"What happened to him though?"

"Madame le Baroness, I must insist that you respect his privacy."

Cosette nodded in understanding. She knew what it was like to hide something shameful, as did Marius. Her surrogate father…

Marius was having the same thoughts. _Poor child…_ Unfortunately, his thoughts were interrupted by Raoul's outburst.

"So… where is the girl? I want to play with her and that masked boy!"

"RAOUL!"

"RAOUL!"

"You…"

"What? Did I say something wrong?"

* * *

'Grandpére' is grandfather, and 'grandmére' is grandmother in French.

'Ma douce'- _my sweet_ in French.

The beginning of "Broken Home" by Ramin Karimloo is used during the blackberry patch scene.

Snippets of "Let it Go" from Frozen is also used.

According to the book, Cosette was born in 1815, and Marius in 1810, making them in their 50s during this time period.

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

Thanks to MomoxDerpy for helping me proofread! Be sure to check out her fanfic!

Reviews and comments are highly appreciated.


	18. Ch 17: Scars and Scarves

**Chapter 17: Scars and Scarves**

 _12 March 1869_

"It's not fair… it's not fair…" Erik said in between sobs, curled up into a ball in the corner of his room. "Oncle shouldn't have invited them… he shouldn't have… he shouldn't have…"

Christine, being the five year old she was, could do little to alieve Erik's pain. Speaking in Swedish, she asked, "Ewik? You should take off your suit and gloves." Erik always wore a well-tailored suit and white gloves, no matter what state he was in, whether it be to bed or early in the morning; it helped him bolster his confidence.

It also helped him hide his pathetic body from Christine. She did not know of his scars, ranging from his very hands to his mangled back, his distorted… everything.

"No, little Lotte, no… I cannot… you must not…"

"Here, I'll help you." She somehow managed to remove the gloves from Erik, exposing his skeletal hands for her to see. Her eyes widened in shock. "Ewik? What hwappened? Why do have so many scars on your hands?"

Despite his current state, Erik couldn't help but express a dull chuckle. "People did, little Lotte. They did this to me and much more just because of my face." He gestured at his discarded mask several meters away, where he had thrown it in his fit of anger and sadness. He exhaled and buried his face into his hands. "So many people have done things to me, and your father was one of the few who had the heart to take care of me…"

"Ewik, don't cwy…" Christine placed her tiny hands upon Erik's cold ones. She gasped slightly upon contact, causing Erik to look up.

"See, little Lotte? That's why people don't like me… Even you would as well, if you were not yet repulsed already! You haven't even seen the rest of me, and yet you recoil in fear!" Tears formed in Christine's eyes as he said so, causing Erik to break down once more. "I'm sorry, little Lotte, but I speak the truth. You should return to your father." He shakily pointed at the door, where Gustave's voice seemed to be speaking with the Baron and his family.

"And what will you do, Ewik? Don't hide in here!"

"I will, little Lotte. I cannot risk them knowing about my face. If they find out…" He took off his jacket reluctantly and rolled up his dress shirt's sleeves. He did not want to do it, but if it meant that Christine will understand the point… "history might repeat itself." Willing his eyes to close, Erik waited for the inevitable scream.

It never came. Instead, the small hands reached for his arm and began tracing every scar lightly. "Poor Ewik," she mumbled. Erik opened his eyes in surprise. Even adults screamed at the sight of his face and scars on his arms alone, and this girl… she must have the will of steel. "Just because you bear scars doesn't mean you have to hide them from anyone. Like me. I know you now, Ewik. Don't hide from me ewer again."

"But… but little Lotte, what about the others?"

"I won't be angwy at you if you do so… just twy to twalk with them, ok?"

"I'll try… I'll try…"

"Then come on, Ewik! Pére should be about ready to make lunch! Let's eat then, Ewik!" She tugged on Erik's hands, beckoning him to come with her. At her movement, Erik abruptly pulled back his hands.

"Christine! You know I cannot!" he yelped, not only in shock that someone touched his actual hands for the first time in five years, but also because of Christine's suggestion to _eat_ in their presence.

"Why ewer can you not, Ewik?" she pleaded, obviously hurt by his sudden response.

"Oh, little Lotte, if only you remembered," he moaned. "My mask… no place for a mouth…"

Realization hit her as if someone had slapped her at full force. "Oh… I'm sworry Ewik. I won't make you…"

"No, don't sweat about it, little Lotte… why don't you go join your father then… I would rather starve here…"

"No!" she said fiercely, with all the air of a grown woman. "I won't weave you, Ewik! Newer!"

"Are you sure?" Erik responded wearily. Knowing fate and what all women would have to go through…

Christine merely nodded. _Such an innocent child…_

XXXX

"Christine! Erik! Come down, it's time for lunch!"

No response.

Gustave piled two plates with food and sighed. He had rather hoped that Erik and Christine would rather come and eat with his guests. The thought suddenly occurred to him that Erik couldn't eat with his mask on. _I guess he's trying to spare them the sight. Or maybe he has a grudge on me. Either way, whatever Erik does, Christine will always stubbornly follow._ He took the two plates and made his way to Erik's room. He did not realize that the younger Vicomte had slipped away from the dining table and was now following him.

The Vicomte ducked into the shadows when the man came to a stop and looked around him for any possible followers. Not seeing anyone, Monsieur Daaé tapped on the door lightly with the sole of his foot. Raoul smiled. He had not been detected at all.

He could hear a voice respond to the knock in some foreign language, asking for something, to which Monsieur Daaé responded in the same language. They seemed to be arguing, the voice and the Monsieur, but the door still opened regardless. It closed as soon as the Monsieur entered the room, and Raoul could hear a dull click, indicating the door was locked.

 _Oh well. I still would like to meet these two children, no matter how odd they are. If my memory serves correctly, Grandpére doesn't have any children around his summer house. Maybe I can befriend her and play with her… and for that masked boy…_

Feeling resolved, he turned back to the dining room to rejoin his brother and grandparents.

XXXX

"Why did you have to do this, Oncle?" Erik begged in Swedish. "I'll never be able to take off my mask now, with them around like buzzards. They will claw me down the moment they see my face."

"Well, Erik. What exactly did you want me to do? Leave them out there?"

Erik had to admit that his Oncle had a point. "No, Oncle. I… It's… never mind, Oncle. Forget everything I said."

"I still expect you to come out and talk to the guests. I don't see anything wrong with just talking to them. In fact, they seemed pretty enthusiastic to talk to you," Gustave added.

"Yea, Ewik! See, even Pére agrees with me!"

Erik sighed in defeat. "Okay Oncle, if you say so. But… I will hold you responsible if they come to this cottage to cart me off if they manage to take off my mask."

"Stop being negative, Erik. These are respected members of society. They will do no such thing."

He snorted at that comment. "Tell that to all the rich 'respected members of society' who paid quite finely to see my face unmasked."

"Pére…? What is Ewik twalking about?"

"Nothing, Christine. Nothing at all…" he gulped as Erik paled.

Erik had not meant for that to slip out. _Perhaps I'll tell her about it in the future._

"And besides, this is our cottage. Even they will have to obey my rules."

"Fine, Oncle, fine. I will go and meet your guests when I am done eating," he snapped, tired of this pointless argument with his Oncle. "But I want them to stay away from my room. And also lots of composition paper."

 _Just like Louis. Agreements with conditions._

Nodding, Gustave left Erik's room, with Erik and Christine starting a new conversation completely in Swedish. _What the heck am I supposed to tell the Baron now?_ He sat down upon his chair in the dining room and began to eat his mashed potatoes dully, while the Baron and Baroness gazed upon the man's uncomfortable state.

"Monsieur Daaé? Is there something wrong?" the Baroness worriedly asked. "What ever may be the problem?"

Gustave stopped eating and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "Nothing, Baroness le Pontmercy. It is merely that my surrogate son does not want to talk to strangers, that is all."

"The freak?" Raoul's face shot up from his gaze at his own plate. "I knew something was wrong with him."

"Quiet, Raoul. I'm sure he has a reason to do so." Philippe shuffled slightly away from his brother in disgust. "Monsieur Daaé, who is your surrogate son anyway? How old is he? Is he really what Raoul thinks he is?"

"My surrogate son's name is Erik Mulheim." Philippe had missed this information earlier as he did not follow his grandparents when they toured around Gustave's house. "He's fourteen years old, and he is a genius. He has a name for himself already in Paris."

"Fourteen? He's only a year younger than I am!"

Something ticked inside the Baron's mind, that he had not realized earlier when they discussed Erik Mulheim. _Mulheim… it sounds familiar… and not from music._ He nudged his wife gently. "Cosette, my dear, I cannot help but think about the last name 'Mulheim'," he murmured softly, while Philippe and Gustave continued their avid discussion about Erik. Raoul merely picked his food indifferently, uncaring for the conversations that took place—his mind was all on the charming little girl.

"Yes, Marius, 'Mulheim' does indeed seem familiar. I think he was one of the masons we hired to reconstruct the damaged wing of our chateau."

The Baron's face paled upon the mention of the 'masons'. The tick rang in louder and louder, as he remembered the letters he sent out to the Mulheim twins, seeking their assistance in the renovation of his chateau.

He had sent letters to Charles and Ludwig Mulheim, the famed architects who originated from Alsace. When they arrived at the Baron's house, he could hardly tell the difference between the two—they were identical in every way, from their hair color and hairstyle to their deep emerald eyes. They both wore no ring upon their long, worn fingers, most likely due to their jobs. Yet, he could tell the animosity between the two—they had obviously fought over something and were not pleased to be in the presence of the other.

They had grudgingly accepted the assignment and worked on the Baron's house day and night, stopping only for rest. Marius spent a great deal of time talking to one of the twins (he never knew which one he was talking to, they wore the exact same work attire and behaved identically) and had grown fond of the two men. He had wondered what exactly happened between the two that would cause such a close bond to disintegrate, and vowed to get the two to reconcile.

That never happened. Marius's attempt to get the two in the same place at the same time ended in tragedy when the ceiling that the two twins were examining collapsed, crushing the two. And Marius was a mere few feet away from the rubble, and watched in horror as his actions led to the deaths of the two twins.

Or so he thought. According to the newspapers, one of the twins disappeared from the morgue, apparently having not died from his injury. Which one, however, was uncertain—even more unsettling was the fact that that twin disappeared without any trance.

Without any photographs of the two twins at the time of their 'deaths', and the lack of identification on their bodies at the time, the deceased twin was buried in the local graveyard, bearing only 'Mulheim' upon the headstone.

The surviving twin was never found.

"They were the identical twin masons I hired nearly fifteen years ago," he whispered to his wife. "The ones who I accidentally sent to their deaths. Do you suppose that this boy, Erik, could be the son of one of the twins?"

"I suppose so," his wife glanced away from her husband uncomfortably. It bothered her that her husband's actions inadvertently caused the death of one. She turned to Gustave and Philippe, still engaged in their full length conversation about the girl and the masked boy. Raoul had finally caught interest in what they were discussing and was listening attentively. "Monsieur Daaé, pardon me, but Erik Mulheim is only fourteen, right?"

Gustave looked at the Baroness, surprised by how… familiar she seemed to Erik. "Oui, Madame le Baroness. Why do you ask so?"

The Baron responded to the question. "I… I had hired the famous Mulheim masons. You recall from the newspapers, non?"

Gustave nodded. "Oui, I do. That was quite a scandal at the time. The twin that mysteriously vanished, non? Well, I guessed that as well, and I do believe that Erik is the son of one of the two. My wife Hannah had mentioned that her former employer was the wife of a Charles Mulheim." He chose not to voice his suspicion about Louis Mifroid. _Louis should find out for himself. Even now, I am unsure of his actual identity._

The conversation at the table came to an abrupt halt when they a pair of soft footsteps approaching. Erik entered the dining room noiselessly, full mask on, while Christine (the source of those footsteps) trotted behind him, both holding onto their empty plates. He froze in place upon realizing that all eyes were upon him, Christine following suit.

"Uh… bonjour, Monsieur le Baron, Madame le Baroness," he bowed awkwardly at the two before rushing to the kitchen. Christine copied his actions and followed.

"I see the resemblance," Marius said softly. "He has the same panther-like grace, the same hair, the same build…"

Erik returned back to the table empty-handed and sat down on a vacant seat, Christine copying his action. He was only doing this for Gustave's sake.

"Uh… the boy across from you is the Vicomte Philippe de Chagny, and the one across from Christine is Raoul de Chagny," the Baron told Erik weakly.

Erik sat quietly as the other occupants tried to start a new conversation.

"So," Philippe began, breaking the tension, "is it true that you are only fourteen years old? When is your birthday?"

Blink. Blink. Erik was surprised by Philippe's first question. He had expected his mask to be the topic of the first. "Well… well… yes, I suppose. It's in about seven months."

"Really? My fifteenth birthday was two months ago…" Philippe continued on, never taking another glance at the mask upon the other boy's face, instead focusing directly on the amber eyes. Eventually, with the reassuring grip of Christine's hand, Erik relaxed enough to begin to converse with Philippe with equal passion, ignoring the surprised looks on the adults' faces.

Raoul vainly attempted to grab Christine's attention by calling her name. Only when he crashed Erik's and Philippe's conversation by practically throwing a tantrum to go play by the seaside did they stop their conversation.

"I guess we could go," Erik said dismissively. He hoped that the fool would stay away from him and Christine, and perhaps fall into the English Channel.

"I can't go anywhere…" Philippe gestured towards his bandaged leg, eyes downcast in depression. Erik followed the hand motion and understood what he meant.

"I might have something that could help you and your leg," Erik suddenly offered. "I have a walking stick that I carved in my spare time."

"You carved crutches?" Gustave interrupted. He could not recall any time that Erik could have had the opportunity to do so. After all, when did Erik…?

Erik grinned behind his mask. "Oncle Louis bought the actual stick a week ago, and I merely carved the designs into it."

"Why ever would you need the walking stick though?" Erik did not respond to Gustave's second question.

"Thanks!" Philippe was positively joyful upon hearing so. Erik got up to retrieve his walking stick while Philippe made a feeble attempt to rise from his chair unaided. Christine rose and walked around the table to help support Philippe, but was stopped by Raoul, who took over the moment she reached out in an effort to impress her.

"Christine, you should go and put on something warm," Gustave suddenly added.

"Aw pére, why?"

"Because it's quite windy outside." Erik reentered the dining room, walking stick in one hand and Christine's rose-red scarf in the other. "Little Lotte, you should be aware that the weather changes quite frequently here. Your father and I would rather hope that you not—"

"Who is little Lotte?" Raoul interrupted. Erik scowled behind his mask.

"It is of no concern of yours, little Vicomte," he spat as Raoul was taken back by his demanding voice. He handed the scarf to Christine, who wrapped it around her neck snuggly, before handing the walking stick to Philippe. "Here, I'll help you up." Erik offered a gloved hand to Philippe, which the latter accepted, and pulled him up.

"Don't stay outside for too long, okay kids?" the Baron called out to the four children making their way towards the door. Philippe leaned heavily against the wooden stick and had great difficulty walking, requiring Erik's strength and assistance to walk normally. Philippe turned his head around to face the Baron and nodded weakly before the front door slammed shut, obviously by Raoul.

The adults remained at the table, unsure what to say now that all of the children were gone.

"I must say, I would like to know if what _Les Misérables_ is actually true," Gustave started.

"Why ever would you say that?"

"Pardon me, Madame le Baroness, but my wife had always loved the book ever since it was published back in 1864. I don't suppose that what is written actually relates to you, non?"

"That would be my uncle Jean Victor Pontmercy," Marius said. "He uses the pen name 'Victor Hugo' whenever he publishes his works. I was quite surprised when he wanted to learn more about our history." He gripped Cosette's hand, knowing how recalling the past still hurt her so.

XXXX

Meanwhile, the four children had reached an ample distance away from the cottage, along the shoreline of Cherbourg. Erik helped Philippe sit down on the grass as Raoul continued to pester Christine to play with her.

"Come on, Christine! Play with me! The masked boy and my brother can be the monsters!"

Erik tensed up behind his mask. _No, I will not be subjected to this horror that the little Vicomte will force me to undergo._ "I would think not, little Vicomte. I refuse to play your little game."

"Come on, freak, you're suited for the job. Why don't you take off your mask while you're at it?" Raoul approached the older duo and reached to grab the black mask.

Erik's fists balled up as he released a low growl. Sensing Erik's obvious distress, Christine tugged at Raoul's arm sleeve. "No, don't talk to Ewik wike that. I'll pway with you, but weave Ewik awone."

"Fine then." Raoul stopped his advancement and withdrew his hand, following Christine's lead. They ran to the shoreline, splashing water at each other while Raoul gleefully brandished his invisible sword around.

Erik sat down a sizable distance from Philippe, enough so that he was out of arm's reach of his mask, but not too far to be overly suspicious and avoiding.

Philippe finally decided to mention the mask. "Erik, forgive me for asking, but why do you wear a mask?" Upon seeing Erik's fists tighten again, Philippe hastily added, "please, I meant no harm. If you wish not to converse about it, it is okay. I am merely curious about it."

Erik softened at Philippe's earnest question. _Dare I tell him? I should not, I really should not. He'll run away for sure, or he'll hate me._

"I… it covers a minor deformity of mine," he cautiously worded. "I have no intention of showing it off to the world, so I beg you not to question it any further."

Philippe accepted the response and nodded. "I am fine with what you have answered, Erik. I shall ask no more about your mask. Tell me, how has life been like, composing while living far away from society?"

"I guess it's not much of a difference, really. I had always lived in solitude before my Oncle found me. My life hasn't changed much at all. I am content to merely living with my Oncle and Christine."

"Why though? Surely you would like to see the crowds?"

Erik's eyes narrowed as Philippe's words left his mouth. "I wish nothing more than to be as far away as possible from the crowds. They will do nothing but harm me. Imagine an army of your brother, how he reacted to me. That's my experience with crowds, except a whole lot worse. All they care about is the mask and what hides underneath it." He turned away, realizing that he said too much. "Perhaps you do not want to be my friend anymore, not that I had any to begin with. No one dares befriend someone who is just slightly different."

Philippe made a futile attempt to get up, and when that failed resorted to crawl to Erik. "I don't see anything wrong with befriending you," he said softly. "Your face doesn't mat—"

He choked back on his words as he was pulled backwards. Erik, alarmed by the sudden stop to his new friend's words, turned around, expecting to see Philippe recoiling away from him.

That wasn't the case.

Raoul and Christine had grabbed Philippe's shoulders and were pulling him away, giggling madly. Philippe gave Erik a small smile before playing along with their game.

"Ak! What do you plan on doing with me?"

"We've got the beast! Quick, give me the rope!" Christine handed her scarf over, which Raoul took and wrapped tightly around Philippe's neck. A bang of jealously shot through Erik, seeing his gift to Christine being used in such a foul manner.

"We did it, Christine! You are now free to marry me!" He brought his invisible sword down on Philippe's neck, as Philippe blanched. Erik frowned behind his mask at this notion.

"Alright, I quit." Philippe tore the scarf from around his neck and handed it back to Christine. Raoul snatched the scarf from Christine's reaching hands, grinning triumphantly.

"Oh no you don't, Monsieur le Bête!" Raoul threw the scarf back at Philippe, intending to use it as a lasso.

Unfortunately, the wind picked up at that exact moment, and the scarf, instead of landing on top of Philippe, was carried off into the sea.

"Ack! My scarf!" Christine cried, and began to run towards her scarf.

"No, Christine!" Erik grabbed onto Christine's hand, preventing her from going out to sea.

"But my scarf… Ewik, your pwesent…" Christine hugged Erik tightly and cried at the loss of her new scarf.

Erik froze at the gesture (he was still not used to any signs of affection), he slowly began patting her back. "It does not matter. I can always buy you one later."

Seeing her tears sparked his eyes. "I'll get it!" Raoul declared, running out to sea in an effort to retrieve the scarf, which had long since settled on the surface of the waves.

"Raoul, wait! You don't know how to swim!"

"Does not matter, Philippe! I shall rescue it for her if it's the last thing I do!" He stopped to turn around and puffed his chest out proudly at Christine, who kept her back to him.

"Then go," Erik replied coldly. "Prove yourself worthy, Monsieur Knight in Shining Armor. I doubt you'll get far in your fancy suit anyway."

"Fine then, _Erik._ I will." Raoul stomped off to the shore before jumping into the cold waters. His head bobbed up and down in the shallow waters as he made his way to the distant scarf.

And suddenly, his head disappeared under the waters, within close proximity to the red scarf.

For minutes, Philippe and Christine held their breaths, waiting for Raoul's head to resurface, while Erik looked out to sea indifferently.

"Ewik, I think swomething's wrong…" Christine whimpered.

"R-r-raoul? Are you still there?" Philippe yelled out, hoping his little brother would hear his call and return back to the surface.

Silence. Only the rough splashing of the waves upon the shore and the small squawks from high-flying seagulls were heard.

With each second, the Vicomte and Christine became increasingly anxious.

"Ewik, you need to go gwet him!"

"Raoul… no… it can't be…" He turned to the silent Erik. "Please, you must go and save him! I know you don't exactly meet eye-to-eye, but he really is a decent person! Please…"

Erik remained stiff and motionless.

"You're just as what Raoul described," he moaned. "A heartless monster indeed." Philippe buried his face into his hands and cried at his uselessness, for his brother, and the so-called monster-friend he made.

Seeing Philippe's face hidden from view, Erik stirred. "Christine," he hissed in Swedish. "Make sure he doesn't look up."

"Why though, Ewik?"

One single gesture at his face, and Christine understood. She approached the crying Philippe and blocked his view to the sea as Erik removed his gloves, cravat, and dress shoes. He took off the jacket and mask before diving off into the sea.

He had briefly practiced swimming when Christine was still an infant. He thought that it would be important to learn how to. And stopped once Christine was old enough to crane her neck and sit up to prevent her from seeing his damaged body. She never knew he could swim, and it fascinated her.

Philippe looked up from his hands upon hearing the small splash into the sea. "Erik…?"

"No, Pwiwipe! Don't wook!" Her golden locks of hair dangled in front of him, as was her innocent face and blue eyes. He looked away from her face and found the stack of discarded clothing lying next to the shore, with the mask at the very top of the pile. And he understood why Erik had waited until that moment.

He just hoped that his brother was still hanging on to survival.

Meanwhile, Erik was silently moving towards the distant dark shadow in the waters. Although it had been years since he had last swum, it did not deter the speed he reached.

The younger Vicomte lay suspended haphazardly in the waters, almost as if floating. In his hand was the scarf. Erik grabbed Raoul's other hand and swam up to the surface, gasping for breath, before swimming back to shore. He made sure that the boy's face was facing the sky.

Erik reached the shore, completely breathless, and reached for his mask. Only when his mask was completely secured did he beckon for Christine, who was still shielding Philippe from the scene, to approach.

Christine got up and ran to Erik upon seeing him give the motion, and released a gasp of surprise when he too toppled over and laid down next to the Vicomte.

"Ewik?! What's wong?"

"N-n-not-hing, Christine," he hoarsely replied. "N-n-eed… to… c-c-at-ch my… breath. Get… Ph-ph-ilippe over here."

Christine wasted no time, screaming for the older Vicomte to come, running back to where he still sat. She forcefully grabbed Philippe's arm and attempted to drag him over to the two, completely forgetting that he needed the walking stick to walk.

"Christine, I need the walking stick!" he cried. "Stop tugging me so I can get it!"

She ceased her pulling, allowing Philippe to get the walking stick next to him, before she started back, with Philippe basically crawling beside her.

"Ph-ph-ilippe… pump… air… into his… lungs…"

"How? I don't know what you mean!"

"Ra-rapid up… and… down… mo-move-ment on chest… get… water… out of… lungs… Blow… in-to… mouth... get… air… ev-ry… min-minute… or… so…"

Philippe began doing what Erik said, determination not to let Raoul waste away in front of him.

Erik shakily raised his hand, reaching out for Christine, who was standing idly beside Philippe, concern in her eyes. "Christine…"

 _Christine…_ The winds taunted his words, repeating them ominously. Christine abruptly turned around. "What's wong, Ewik? Do you need something?"

"Get… get… your fa-father… and… their… gran-pa-parents… Hurry…"

She nodded and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her back to the cottage.

It was only when she was out of Erik's complete area of vision did he black out.

XXXX

"I must say, your uncle's works are sublime. I want nothing more but to meet him. But what about your children, Monsieur le Baron, Madame le Baroness? What about them?"

"Our children?" Marius laughed bitterly. "We only had one child, Marie Jeane. She was born in 1835, our precious daughter. And then the Comte de Chagny came down and swooped her off her feet in 1855. We've been relatively alone since."

"You speak of Comte Michel de Chagny as if you were sworn enemies. Forgive my intrusion if I am doing so, Monsieur le Baron."

"We were against their marriage," Cosette added. "The Comte seemed to have married only for our money. And for the title of marrying the daughter of a war hero." She twisted her handkerchief in anxiety. "He thinks that lower-classed people are not fully human. That they should all bear way for the aristocrats. You've seen Raoul, he seems to want his children to inherit his mindset."

"He was so intent on keeping us away from our own grandchildren. Today is only our fifth occasion together."

"I thank God above that Philippe has not caught on to his father's mindset. But he is such a daredevil, I swear he's going to end up walking into a trap soon…"

"And Raoul, although more reserved in nature, is just like his father…"

"God cannot grant us perfect children," Gustave concluded. "If only you could have traits from both of them into one child."

The couple nodded in response. "Yes, that's what I think sometimes. Marius swears that somehow Michel—"

The door slammed open suddenly, crashing into the wall with great force, causing the three adults to turn around in surprise. Christine was leaning heavily against the door, breathing in and out heavily.

Gustave was alarmed by her condition. He rushed to her side immediately, taking her into his arms. "Christine! Ma chérie, what is wrong? Why are you all by yourself?" He brushed the wet golden locks of hair from her forehead.

"Pére… Ewik and Waoul… they…they're hurt… huwwy…" The little girl fainted in his arms.

"Christine! CHRISTINE!"

* * *

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

The actual Victor Hugo lived from 1802 to 1885, and is (obviously) not related to the fictional Pontmercy family.

Thanks to MomoxDerpy for helping me proofread! Be sure to check out her fanfic!

Reviews and comments are highly appreciated.


	19. Ch 18: Never Seen

**Chapter 18: Never Seen**

 _12 March 1869_

"Christine! CHRISTINE!"

"She said Raoul was hurt! Oh God, what has become of our grandchildren?" Cosette cried out.

"Calm down, Cosette! I'm sure they're fine!" But Marius wasn't so sure. The Baroness was now crying hysterically into her handkerchief.

"I have an idea where they are," Gustave murmured. "My two kids almost always play in the same location whenever they play outside. And your boy said that he wanted to play by the sea. They couldn't have gone too far…" Christine still in his arms, he headed out the door. "Are you going to follow, Monsieur and Madame le Baron?"

"Of course! I'm not going to stand by and watch my own flesh and blood waste away! What will Marie Jeane say?" Cosette rose and followed Gustave, then turned around upon realizing Marius wasn't getting up. "Marius! What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing. I'm just feeling my age right now. It's nothing serious." In truth, he was exhausted of his grandsons for their rash actions. He slowly got up, following his wife and Gustave out the door.

Gustave continued his trek alongside the seaside, already being able to see three figures, one lying on the shore. Shifting Christine slightly, he quickened his pace. The Baron and Baroness could see the three figures as well, and paused in their haste as Cosette released a gasp in pain.

"Now's not the time to falter, my dear," Marius whispered quietly. "You must remain strong. After all, the girl did not mention Philippe…"

Cosette shakily nodded, before they continued their way to the three.

They stopped mere inches from the main scene—the sight was terribly comical.

Philippe continued pumping down on Raoul's chest and blowing into his mouth, unaware that Raoul had reawakened but was unable to speak because of his actions, while Erik had regained consciousness and was watching the scene in amusement.

Philippe did not stop his action despite the approach of the three adults. "Come on, Raoul, speak to me already! Don't die on me!"

"Philippe, he's already awake…"

"No, Erik…! He is not…! You said to continue… Wait, what?!" he paused to turn around, surprised that Erik had awoken. "Erik! You've been conscious the entire time and didn't tell me?"

Smirking slightly at Philippe's ridiculous surprised expression, Erik gave a low chuckle. "I only just regained consciousness, Philippe. But you should look at your brother. He seems rather… full of breath with your acts." He pointed at Raoul, who was now clutching his chest painfully.

"Oh my… Raoul! You're awake!" Wincing at the sudden movement of his leg when he turned around, Philippe helped Raoul up. "I was so worried about you! If it weren't for Erik, you would've died in the middle of the sea…!" he sobbed into Raoul's already-soggy suit.

"Uh…"

"So what exactly happened here?" Gustave wondered out loud. Surprised, the three boys turned around to face the towering Gustave, with the Baron and Baroness behind him, watching them with shocked facial expressions.

Raoul spoke up first, still queasy from his prolonged time in the water. "It… it twas notti—"

"Oh shut up, Raoul." Philippe gave Raoul a nasty glare, silencing the latter. "I'll tell them what happened."

"Well, we don't have all day," Erik remarked dryly. "Do tell your tale before the sun begins to set…"

"Right. Raoul and Christine were playing around with her scarf when Raoul here," he again gave Raoul his glare. "Decided to throw it in the air for reasons unknown. Then the wind caught up and blew it out to sea. And Raoul here _had_ to play hero even though he couldn't swim. And that's where Erik came in. He not only saved Raoul but also told me how to revive him." Philippe decided not to include the other details, feeling them to be rather unimportant.

"My God, first Philippe and now Raoul. It worked, I must say, your advice for Philippe. Where did you learn it from, Erik?"

Erik looked at the Baron straight in the eye, before coolly replying, "From a medical book published in Holland, Monsieur le Baron. The Dutch had experimented with revitalizing people at the clutches of death since 1767, and I have learned firsthand just now that it works."

"I assume that's from one of the books Louis gave you," Gustave mumbled.

"Louis? Who's Louis?"

"Don't worry about him too much, Monsieur le Baron," hastily replied. "Louis is just a co-worker of mine at the Sûreté. No, he is more than a co-worker, he is my boss and my longtime friend."

"Ah, right. He's the new officer, right? I've never met the man before. You must introduce him to me sometime, Monsieur Daaé."

Gustave paused to hand the unconscious Christine over to Erik, who had ceased listening to Gustave and Baron's conversation and was now chatting idly with Philippe while Raoul and the Baroness listened on intently. He silently bid the masked teenager to take her back to the cottage while he talked with the Baron. Erik nodded and began his trek back, with Christine in his arms and the two Vicomtes and the Baroness following; Raoul still dazed from his near-death experience, and Philippe requiring heavy assistance from the Baroness.

Gustave turned back to the Baron and added, "I cannot do that unfortunately, Monsieur le Baron, for Officer Mifroid is a solitary man. He has very little want to talk to society. If anything, he acts very much like Erik."

 _A bit too much for my comfort._

"Besides, he is quite the busy man. He seems to dedicate himself to his work and Erik."

"Erik? What does Erik have to do with the officer?" Marius asked curiously.

"I'm not sure myself, Monsieur le Baron, but I think Officer Mifroid feels a strange attachment to him. He spends so many hours with the boy, teaching him all that he can."

"So he tutors the boy."

"I guess. He also runs errands for him."

"Errands? I assume like the walking stick?" Marius nodded towards the stick lying at Philippe's feet.

"Eh, I'm not sure when that was actually bought, to be honest." Gustave shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant business-wise, Erik's compositions. It is he who takes the time to get Erik's works published. Without him, Erik wouldn't have his name in Paris at all."

"That still doesn't explain why he's so attached with him."

"I know. And again, I am not sure myself. They do act very similar though, and Officer Mifroid did mention feeling the urge, the need to help Erik. At the time, I merely thought that they were simply from the same town or were distantly related…"

"And now?"

Gustave turned to face the steadily setting sun across the sea. "Well, after I reheard the mishap that happened at your chateau, I cannot help but feel that Officer Mifroid _might_ be one of the two twin architects. However, Officer Mifroid cannot remember his life. He says he woke up in a morgue and left in fear. " He paused, then added as an afterthought, "he also has a scar that travels the length of the left side of his face."

"A morgue? A scar on his face?" Marius paled. "Then this officer _must_ be one of the twins! No wonder he feels so connected to Erik! But who?"

Gustave shrugged. "How should I know? I just know that Erik is the son of Charles Mulheim, and what I have already told you about Officer Mifroid."

"He must have remembered at least something from his past life. Did he tell you anything?"

"Me? His past?" Gustave scoffed. "He has not confided a word except for waking up in the morgue. I doubt he remembers anything at all. Heck, I even mentioned 'Mulheim' in his presence, and he hardly batted an eyelash, much less show any sign of recognition."

"Hm… well that complicates things. 'Louis' is the French version of 'Ludwig'. Perhaps this Officer Mifroid is merely the boy's uncle."

"I agree. He most likely is the uncle."

Thus concluded their conversation about the lonely officer. The two stood in silence, watching the sun set slowly in the distance.

XXXX

Meanwhile, Raoul and Christine were running around the house, playing hide-and-go-seek. Raoul had long since regained his strength and replaced his clothes, while Christine regained consciousness sometime after arriving at the house. Erik (who had also changed suits) and Philippe watched the youngsters in silence while the Baroness went to bed early.

"I found you!" Raoul yelled at the mass under the bed.

"Oh wats!" Christine threw the blankets off of her and faced the silent duo. "Come on, Ewik, Pwiwipe! Come pway with us!"

"No."

"Aw, come on, Ewik! There's nothing wrong that can happen, right?"

Silence.

"Fine." She huffed off and turned back to Raoul, and they fled Erik's bedroom.

"Where do you suppose they've run off to?" Philippe asked once the footsteps died out.

"I don't know, Philippe. I suppose they have gone off to her room." He took out his violin, which rested beside his chair. "If you don't mind, I would like to play alone. You should leave if you don't want to hear it."

"Why would I not want to hear music?" Philippe asked curiously as Erik removed the violin from its case.

"Because, as far as I'm concerned, the rich tend to care less about music and more about maintaining high statuses. I'm aware that most are only sponsors purely for business reasons. Your father, for one, currently patrons the Opéra- Comique, but I highly doubt he cares for the arts."

"That is true," he admitted reluctantly. "How do you know so much about the world though? First on medical techniques, then on the social standing, and now I'm about to hear—music! Is there anything you cannot do?"

"Oui. The only thing I cannot do is repair my deformity," Erik replied with sudden coldness. His eyes darkened slightly before snapping out of it. "Never mind what I just said. But really, if you don't like music, I'd advise you leave."

"Well, seeing that I cannot actually move without assistance, nor do I actually want to leave, I'd rather just sit here and listen to you," he replied.

"Suit yourself." Erik placed the violin against his neck and began to play to his heart's content.

Even with own lack of knowledge and interest in music, Philippe was astonished by Erik's ability to portray his emotions. From the solo he could tell that Erik was, for some odd reason, wary of humanity, and still doubted his company.

"You must really not like humans, do you?"

"Huh?!" Erik almost dropped his violin in confusion and surprise. He had not anticipated the Vicomte to be able to understand the meaning of the piece. "You understood what I played?"

"Yea, I suppose. You sounded so sad and fearful. I must say, how were you able to play like so? I've never heard anyone play as mournfully as you."

"You've heard my other pieces though. Those were all sad."

"No, no, you don't understand. I have heard your other pieces, but none have such a negative output on civility," Philippe counter-argued. "Even the best artists cannot easily replicate such negativity."

Erik put his violin away, avoiding eye contact with Philippe. "Your point being?"

"What happened to you?" It was nothing more but a whisper.

Erik froze, before turning around to face the Vicomte. His eyes were now ablaze in a yellow fire. "Humanity happened, that's what," he replied coldly. He roughly rolled up his right sleeve and took off the white glove.

Philippe's eyes widened as he saw the countless scars running up and down the sickly-white skin. The fingers were thin, painfully thin to the point of skeletal. It seemed so oddly familiar. "I- I've seen you before! You- you, the fair—"

It was now Erik's turn to be shocked. Swaying slightly from where he stood, he rushed out of his room, desperate to gain as much distance as possible from the Vicomte. Unsure where he was heading, he found himself in the dining room, before collapsing into a seat and releasing his tears.

Meanwhile, Philippe could barely comprehend his own thoughts. He had only seen one hand so similar to Erik's before, and that was so many years ago…

XXXX

 _21 December 1863_

" _Pére? Where are we going?"_

" _It's a surprise, Philippe," the Comte smirked in response._

" _If it's a surprise, then why isn't Raoul coming along with us?"_

" _Because he's not yet ready to see what I'm about to show you. Come, my son."_

 _Grasping his hand eagerly, they stepped out of the carriage and into a gypsy camp not too far from his grandparents' house. "What will we see, pére?"_

" _Just you wait and see."_

 _They made their way to a particularly shady attraction, and stood right next to an officer from the_ _Sûreté_ _._

" _Why hello, good officer. Here to enjoy the show?"_

 _The officer nodded silently, eyes not meeting the Comte and Philippe._

 _Philippe could not believe his eyes when he saw the boy inside the cage. He couldn't help but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of what was happening—it seemed like a fantasy. The boy hardly looked human anyway._

 _Like every other spectator, Philippe released a gasp in horror upon the boy being unmasked._

" _Pére? Why does it look like that?"_

" _I heard that he was born like that, Philippe."_

 _As his mind was still trying to comprehend how someone could have been born looking grotesque, the boy began to sing. Only then did his mind stop thinking. 'My god, he's educated. He can speak French, and sing it so beautifully too… why is he here?'_

 _By the end of the song, Philippe couldn't do anything but turn away as the rest of the crowd began to throw all kinds of objects at him, guilty at the thought of having laughed at someone just because of his face._

 _When the crowd had finally run out of objects to throw at the boy, the Comte led Philippe back to their waiting carriage, the officer following closely behind._

" _So, what did you think about it, officer?"_

 _The officer merely shook his head at the Comte's question, before turning his eyes onto Philippe. The cold grey eyes met his blue ones, before finally asking, "And what about you, little Vicomte? Did you enjoy the show?"_

 _All Philippe could do was shake his head frantically in denial._

XXXX

"Monsieur Daaé is that officer… and that boy… my God! What I did back then…!"

XXXX

When Gustave and the Baron finally returned from their long period of silence by the sea, they were shocked to find Christine in the dining room, fiercely defending a sobbing Erik from Raoul, who, apparently, was trying to grab Erik's mask.

"Oh, come on Christine! Let me look at what is behind his mask!"

"No, Rwaoul! I won't wet you do that!"

"RAOUL!"

Raoul stopped his advances to Erik upon hearing his grandfather's booming voice. "Yes grandpére?"

"What in the name of God are you doing?!"

Raoul's hand dropped to his side in guilt. "Nothing."

"Then why are you messing around with Erik?"

Christine took Raoul's silence as an opportunity to slap him squarely on the cheek. "Stay away fwom Ewik alweady!"

"Christine! That's not very nice of you!" Gustave scolded as Raoul clutched his reddening cheek in pain.

"But pére, Rwaoul was distuwbing Ewik, I can't wet that hwappen…"

"And Erik! Why are you crying?" Gustave made his way to the sobbing teenager, gently patting him on his bony shoulders.

Erik slowly raised his head from his arms, surprised and finally aware that Gustave was back. "Onc…oncle?" he rasped, amber eyes barely making eye contact with him. "Please… get Philippe… out of… my room… want to… rest…"

"What about Philippe?" The Baron was surprised to hear that something had gone wrong between Philippe and the boy. They seemed quite close. Firmly grasping Raoul's hand, he asked again, "what did Philippe do?"

"He… he saw… he saw—" he stopped midsentence, suddenly aware that this was the _Baron_ , not his Oncle, who was currently addressing him.

"Saw what?"

"Nothing… just… just get him out…"

The Baron rushed to Erik's bedroom, and found Philippe's back to him in a similar mess. The crippled boy was crying his earnest, leaning heavily against the chair's headrest.

"Philippe! What did you do to Erik?!"

"Grandpére…?" Philippe turned around, also surprised to find his grandfather back. "What…? I…? What…?"

"What did you do to Erik?"

"I… I… nothing…"

"Then why are you both crying?"

"Yea, brother, why are you crying? Did he hurt you?"

"What?! No, Raoul, he didn't! I swear! Rather…" he trailed off. "I hurt him. Please, grandpére, I wish to get up. I'd like to apologize to him… If he'd ever accept my apology…"

"Behave yourself," the Baron sternly told Raoul, and let go of the younger Vicomte's hand. Grinning mischievously, the boy ran back to the living room. The Baron released a sigh of disappointment at the younger one before picking Philippe up and walked down the hallway.

"Philippe, you really should tell me what happened between the two of you these past three hours."

"I shouldn't, grandpére… It would be an invasion of his privacy…"

"What did you do to Erik?"

"I… it was an honest question. Really, grandpére! We met before… under less than desirable circumstances…"

"Go on."

But Philippe said no more. He had burst into tears again and would not stop until he was gently placed onto the guestroom's sole bed.

"It… it hurts me so to think about… just go, grandpére. Just go. Let me wallow in my despair."

"Are you sure I cannot do anything to help you, Philippe? I could talk to Erik for—"

"No, grandpére. That won't do anything. I've done the worst damage, now I have to deal with the consequences…" he suppressed another sob.

"Alright then. Are you sure you want to be alone right now though?"

"Yes grandpére."

With that, Marius le Pontmercy closed the door to the guestroom, engulfing the older Vicomte in darkness.

XXXX

"Little boy! What on Earth do you think you're doing?!"

"Well, _Monsieur_ Daaé, I want a glimpse of what he has under his mask. Make him take it off."

"NO!"

Both father and daughter responded. Christine in particular seemed highly agitated by Raoul's insistence. Feeling as stingy as he always was, he decided that he liked seeing the little girl so flustered and wanted her to be more so. Evading the older man's approach with ease, he found himself in front of Erik.

"Unmask yourself already!"

"I told you no, RAOUL!" "I said no, and I won't wet you touch Erik!" Christine ran up to him and pushed him away as Erik got up.

If it had been in any other situation, the entire company would've noticed that Christine just learned how to pronounce 'r' correctly. Unfortunately, no one did.

Still sobbing, Erik slowly walked to his room. He didn't care anymore if the older Vicomte was still in there or not—he wanted to rest.

"See what you're doing, Raoul?" with one final glare at the Vicomte, the girl followed Erik down the hallway.

Smirking at her obvious flushed state as his eyes followed her figure down the dark hallway until he could no longer see her, he began after them. If it weren't for a man's arms around his shoulder preventing him from doing so.

"I shall be having a word with your grandpére about this," he growled.

"Oh sure, _Monsieur,_ as if you'd actually do so."

"Boy, you're the first person I will ever have to expulse from any house. Once your grandparents have their carriage back, you'll be the only one I wouldn't mind seeing the back of."

"Oh really Monsieur? What makes you think you can do that?" he sneered.

"Know your place, kiddo. You're just a ten year old boy in an officer's house. Your status does not exempt you from the norms of—"

"Monsieur! What are you doing to my grandson?"

"…Society?" Gustave let go of Raoul's shoulders, prompting the young one to rush to his grandfather's arms. "I am lecturing your boy about manners," he bluntly replied.

"I see. But I must wish that you not do so, I shall discipline him myself."

"Please do so," he glared at the Vicomte. "I'd rather not have to have an excuse to prematurely extricate the boy for unbelievable rudeness to my children."

"Very well, Monsieur. I'll be sure to keep him out of your way for now."

XXXX

"Philippe! What did you think of her?"

"Wha…? Raoul, leave me alone." He shoved his brother away from him. "It is probably midnight and you should be sleeping, you fool."

"I cannot. She is everything I could ever want…"

"You sure that she wants you? Seems to me like she is more repelled by you," Philippe scoffed.

"A girl that has a fire like that, I've never seen!"

"Hmph. Stop your nonsense. You've met girls with as much willpower as she."

"Right, the only one I've met is that ballerina that you are smitten to, Philippe." Raoul made an attempt to grab the letter that Philippe was writing. "Sorelli, wasn't she? I suppose you're writing to her? About what?"

"Erik," he sighed warily. "There's so much to write about him to Sorelli! Such a nice young man, that I've never seen…"

"See? You see? You can't get your mind off of her either!"

"Oh, shut up and just fall asleep already. You'll wake up grandmére and grandpére."

"But I can't fall asleep, although I'm not awake either! Because I'm dreaming..."

"Stop with your poetry. You're making me sick."

"Well, brother, what do _you_ have to say about the masked boy, huh? What are you going to tell Sorelli?" he taunted. "Surely not by how odd he is!"

"No. But ever since we met, everything I do gets blurred, even if I just while away my time and dream away… he's such a nice young man, so natural that I've never seen!"

Raoul frowned. "What exactly do you mean, 'everything I do gets blurred'? Do enlighten me on that."

Philippe shook his head. "You wouldn't understand. Not after learning what I did to him…" He paused as the sound of soft footsteps stepping in the hallway.

"Philippe! Do you hear that? Someone's sneaking in the house!" He got up and slinked his way to the door.

"Raoul! What are you doing?" Philippe hissed.

"Something's happening, and I don't know what. But I WILL find out!" he twisted the doorknob and cracked the door open. He peered through the crack.

"Well? What do you see?"

"Nothing."

Philippe released a snort. "Well, whoever it is that is sneaking out and around, you have clearly not, and will never see it."

"Oh, shut up Philippe!" Raoul closed the door and crossed over to snatch Philippe's letter.

"Hey! Give it back!" Philippe swiped for his letter, failing as the letter danced out of reach in the younger Vicomte's fingers. "If it weren't for my leg you would be dead," he growled.

"Oh really, Philippe? Do you really think so?" Smirking slightly, he slowly tore the letter in half.

Philippe's eyes widened as the halves slowly floated to the ground. "What was that for?! Oh, you _bastard_ —" His hands caught the younger Vicomte's knee, forcing the latter to fall to the ground in a crash, with Philippe landing on top of him.

"What's with all the ruckus?!" The Vicomtes turned around, shocked, to find their grandpére alert and angry.

"We… ah…"

"GET BACK TO BED ALREADY!"

XXXX

 _13 March 1869_

Gustave quietly made his way to Erik's room. He could hear the Vicomtes engaged in some argument but paid them no mind.

"Erik? I know you're still awake," he knocked on the door softly and whispered in Swedish. After a few silent seconds the door creaked open. Amber eyes glowing in the darkness, Erik stared at Gustave's grey eyes tiredly before letting him in. "Christine is in your room, non?"

He nodded and closed the door behind them as Gustave entered. Both former officer and masked boy sat down upon Erik's bed. Gustave could see his daughter sleeping on the bed as well, facing towards the wall.

"Would you like to explain what exactly happened between you and Philippe? You both looked rather depressed with each other. From what I've heard, Philippe is afraid that you are rejecting his friendship and feels that he ruined something. He claims he disturbed something of yours." He leaned forward to Erik. "Is there something wrong? Maybe I can help?"

Erik sighed and began fumbling with the strings of his mask, finally removing it completely from his face.

"It's nothing to important, Oncle," he replied also in Swedish. "It is just… so painful to know…"

"To know what, Erik?"

"Oh… It's just… horrible…" Erik was breaking down again, tears forming from his eyes again. He found himself burying his head into Gustave's nightshirt, crying uncontrollably. Gustave patted him on his bony back soothingly in response.

"There, there. Do tell me what's wrong though, Erik." He could hear the Baron yelling something from the guest room, but paid no heed to it.

Withdrawing himself from Gustave's chest, Erik hastily wiped away his tears. "I… I'll try…" Gustave smiled encouragingly at the boy. "He… Philippe… he… was… there… that… day…"

"What do you mean, Erik?"

"He… the fair… that night… next to… Oncle…"

"What do you mean, Erik? What exactly…?"

"He… he's the boy… that I saw… standing… next to… you… that night…" he shivered involuntarily, as the long distant memories of that painful past resurfaced. "No… he's back, isn't he… to hurt me…"

"He's dead, Erik, and he hasn't hurt you since that night."

Erik shook his head. "He isn't… gone yet, Oncle… In dreams… he comes for me… I… I can't fall asleep, he's always there, waiting for me…" He let out a small whimper in pain. "It's not … just him either… it is all those eyes that stare back at me, laughing at me, throwing things and saying mean things to me… and he was one of them…"

"Philippe?"

"Yes, Oncle… I just told… you … he… next to….you… that night…"

"That was him?" Gustave was surprised. He vaguely remembered a member of the upper society. "The Comte de Chagny and his son… Philippe? How do you know?"

"His eyes… they're unlike any I've… ever seen… such a bright blue… laughing… next to you… every night…." He shivered again. "Oncle… he says…. He remembers me… he was devastated… to learn… he became friends with… the Devil's Child…"

"I don't think Philippe is rejecting you," Gustave said slowly. "He really wants to talk to you, but as you know he can't approach you at all. And you just lock yourself up and away, you don't even give him the chance to explain himself."

"That doesn't change the fact that he saw my face before and taunted it," Erik replied sadly.

"You don't know, Erik."

"What do you mean, Oncle?"

Gustave sighed. "I talked to him as I left to get my cloak and gun. He seemed badly shaken after you started singing."

"He did?" Erik's face relaxed somewhat, only to return back to his depressed state. "He just wants to throw insults at Erik's face, just like before. That Erik was a true demon."

Gustave was alarmed by his sudden usage of third-person speech. "Erik, stop referring to yourself in such a detached manner! And no, he does not want to. In fact, after he heard you sing, he seemed to regret himself for behaving like so… just… just give him a chance, Erik!"

"Alright… Eri—I will try to," he sighed in defeat.

"Good." He patted him on the back encouragingly. "Now, why don't you try and go to sleep, Erik? God, you probably get less hours of sleep than the waters of the English Channel."

"I don't need to sleep, Oncle. I'm perfectly fine just as I am."

Gustave gave him a wary look. "Look Erik, one day you will collapse from exhaustion, and that might be when I'm not around. You will be vulnerable at the worst possible time. Who will be there to cover for you, Erik?"

He hated to admit it, but Oncle did have a point. But…

"I really cannot, Oncle. They come for me, it happens all over again… that night, everything before…" he clutched his pounding heart, which was racing at the mere thought. "It's impossible for me to…"

They were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. "Is anyone in there?" the voice called out softly in French.

Gustave was slightly surprised by the interruption, while Erik paled significantly at the voice.

"Don't worry about us, Philippe. You go on back to bed."

"Ah! Monsieur Daaé!" the voice sounded relieved. "I thought a burglar had come in and…" he trailed off, although the implication to Gustave was quite clear.

"Really now, little Vicomte. You should be back in bed."

"I can't though."

"Why ever not?" Erik's voice croaked, sounding unlike his normal voice.

"Ah, Erik! You're there as well! I must apologize to you for my previous behaviors and actions. Please, open the door."

Erik replaced the mask upon his face and met his Oncle's eyes, before nodding. Gustave crossed over to the door and opened it soundlessly.

Philippe was lying on his belly, completely flat upon the wooden floor. His right hand, deprived of the door's support as in swung inward, fell onto Gustave's bare foot. Philippe grinned weakly as Erik's eyes widened at the sight before letting out a suppressed chuckle.

"I guess we're even now, huh?"

"I guess… so." Erik let out another chuckle before approaching the Vicomte. "What are you doing here? Why can't you get back to your room?"

Philippe gestured to the dark hallway with his left hand. "Well, I really wanted to apologize to you, and this was the only way. I snuck out when I thought no one was awake. But the moment I left the room I heard the door click shut. Raoul…"

"So he locked you out."

"Oui, I guess. Not like locking would ever work, I can't even reach the door handle…"

"Here, we'll get you up," Gustave and Erik said simultaneously. They grabbed Philippe by the shoulders and supported him up, placing him on the chair he had sat upon for hours yesterday.

"Thanks…You do accept my apology, do you Erik?" he looked down at his hands, which were folded neatly on his lap. "My behavior then was inexcusable, and… I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Erik replied sharply. "Please, let us not discuss this anymore. Please…"

"You know," Philippe said softly, "I've never seen anyone as strong as you… I'm quite envious…"

* * *

A snippet of the English translation of "Nie Geseh'n" is used, as well as subtle ALW stuff spread here and there...

I apologize for the late post... Designing a website for school is more important than writing, so...

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

Thanks to MomoxDerpy for helping me proofread! Be sure to check out her fanfic!

Reviews and comments are highly appreciated.


	20. Ch 19: Running Out

**Chapter 19: Running Out**

 _15 March 1869_

After that night, Erik and Philippe went about as if nothing had happened between them. Philippe continued to be impressed by Erik's knowledge on various topics, which, the latter proudly exclaimed, "he learnt it all that from Oncle Louis". Gustave was impressed by the relative ease the two reconciled after the shaky argument.

"Sorelli is so beautiful," Philippe gushed one day. "You have to meet her! She's—"

"—the ballerina who is currently employed at the Opéra-Comique."

"Why—why—h… how did you know?"

Erik grinned slyly behind his mask. "I can't say. Must've heard it from somewhere."

Raoul continued his advances on Christine, although far more subdued than before. Perhaps it was due to the dark looks that his grandparents and Monsieur Daaé gave him whenever he was around them. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Erik was glaring at his back intensely at all times, idly tapping his walking stick against his palm. Either way, he dared not misbehave. Christine found it rather cute of him to behave as a gentleman all of the sudden, and was more than happy to play with him now that he wasn't being a stick in the mud.

By Monday Gabin Boffrand had returned with the repaired carriage. The two Vicomtes were extremely reluctant to leave, as were Erik and Christine with Philippe and Raoul, respectively.

"We'll return soon," Marius said. "I must thank you for your hospitality," he shook hands with Gustave.

"Safe journey!" Gustave replied. The three watched as the carriage slowly disappeared in the distance.

"So what do we do now?" In the two days with Raoul, Christine's slight lisp miraculously disappeared. "Pére?"

Gustave sighed and closed the door. "I don't know, ma chérie, I don't know."

In truth, Gustave was heavily concerned about his remaining expenses—he was running out of money. Sooner or later, he would have to return back to Paris. He shivered at the thought of returning to his old flat which, despite having placed it available for rent, did not achieve any potential residents. He wondered just how much dust had settled in, and if Hannah's ghost still haunted the building.

Even more worrying for Gustave was his anticipation for Antoinette's reaction. The very first letter from her that he opened here in the cottage detailed her long and painful birth process…

 _5 April 1854_

 _Gustave:_

 _Labor was painful and excruciating. I felt as if I would die. As you know, Louis was over at your place for most of that day. I was so lonely, so scared, so afraid… I had no comfort, you know. I feared that I would pass away, unknown by all my friends…_

 _But no. I gave birth to Marguerite Elizabeth Giry on the 2_ _nd_ _of April 1864. She's quite an odd one, I must say. She literally combines all of me and Henri…_

The rest of the letter was heavily smeared; why, Gustave couldn't tell. However, he couldn't help but feel guilty that he basically abandoned Antoinette at such a critical stage of her period.

Antoinette sent more letters after that, all of them in some blaming tone.

" _This is just ridiculous! How am I to care for Marguerite if I can barely spend time with her?"_

" _She is quite the jumpy type. I wish you could have seen her go—her first steps at just a year old!"_

" _These ballet girls are just horrible! I could say the same with the orchestra; it is not the same without you for some odd reason."_

" _My, how much longer do you plan to stay up in Cherbourg, Gustave? Surely the dust must have settled since then."_

Gustave never replied to the letters, always telling Louis to relay his short response to her. And now, he didn't want to face his former savior, who was sure to give him a sound telling.

"Oncle? What are you thinking of right now? You seem to be worrying about something."

"Huh?" He looked at Erik's bare face—the mask came off the moment Gustave had closed the door—completely unsurprised by his ability to read his mind. "Me? Uh, nothing, really, Erik. Don't worry too much."

"It's our financial issue, isn't it?" Erik replied in a low voice, so that Christine could not overhear as she made her way into her room. "We're going to be returning back to Paris soon, right?"

Gustave sighed in defeat. "Yes, Erik, we will, sooner or later, be returning back to Paris."

"Hmm…" Erik's eyes wandered thoughtfully around the living room of the cottage. "I wouldn't mind returning." He locked his eyes back on Gustave. "But what about you, Oncle? Are you mentally prepared to return?"

For the first time, Gustave wished that Erik was still a helpless child who knew no better.

XXXX

"Grandpére? Are we really going to return?" Raoul watched as the cottage faded from view.

"Only once more," the Baron replied. "After that, you will be enrolled into École Navale."

"The naval academy?" Philippe couldn't suppress his surprise. Slapping his brother playfully on the shoulder, he added, "I'll miss seeing you around, Raoul. Hope you don't drown again."

"Why Philippe, but you're going as well."

"What?!" Philippe's hand froze in midair, eyes widening in surprise. "Grandpére, what do you mean?"

"We feel that you should attend the academy as well," the Baroness responded. "The academy will probably slap some sense of control into your mind. And you," she glared at her younger grandson. "Get a grip on politeness."

"Aww, grandmére, grandpére…"

"You have four more months. We've already contacted your parents and they'd be glad to let you attend."

XXXX

 _16 March 1869_

"Oncle Louis, can you perhaps buy another walking stick for me? One preferably made out of metal?" Louis had revisited the cottage again, as he did every week.

"What will you do with it?" he asked curiously. "It's odd enough that you would want one already, but two? Why on Earth would you need another one?"

"Oncle Louis, just please."

Louis surrendered. "Fine, fine. I'll have it by the 18th." He noticed that Gustave was being unusually quiet, and was staring at him from across the living room. "Is something the matter, Gustave? What's up with your glum face?"

Gustave shook his head and refocused on his vision back to Christine reading in front of him.

 _Should I tell him or not? If I do, he might… If I don't, he might… what exactly am I afraid of? That he will dismiss me as just being plain silly? They stand so close in front of me; the similarities are really beginning to show…_

Quite literally, they were almost similar. If it wasn't for their vast height, it was their voice, their hair preference, their little ticks…the conversation with the Baron did little to ease Gustave's mind.

 _But I shouldn't be affected by name-calling at all. Really, I shouldn't. So what's stopping me?_

 _Maybe I will tell him on Christmas Eve. Yes, that is what I should do. It would make a great surprise for both of them!_

Smiling slightly, he went back to watching Christine with renewed interest.

Louis and Erik were silently watching Gustave's facial expression change before them—and were immensely surprised in what the facial expressions implied.

"Oncle Louis," he whispered. "What do you think Oncle is thinking about?"

"I don't know," Louis replied softly. "He seems rather deep in thought. Like he has a secret that he is on the verge of revealing."

"I thought so too. What do you think that he's thinking about though?"

"You entertain me."

"Well," Erik began with a confident air. "I think it has something to do about you, Oncle Louis. The way he kept looking directly at you, then to me, then zoning out, is quite unnerving."

"Ah. That's what I was thinking as well." He ruffled Erik's hair messily.

"Oncle Louis! Stop that!" Warding off his hand, he frantically tried to slick his hair back again, with limited success.

Gustave couldn't help but crack a small grin when he saw this bonding. But still, his mind was thinking on how the Baron and the Baroness left so soon. Perhaps they could have positively identified Louis as being Ludwig or Charles.

"Pére? Help me." He felt tugging on his sleeve and looked down. Christine was pulling at his sleeve with a frown upon her face. "Pére, what does this phrase mean? It sounds so odd."

Gustave looked at where Christine was pointing at in her book. _Tis thousand pities, anything so good-natured should be so ugly_ , he read out loud.

Erik froze upon hearing those words. No one noticed; Louis was still ruffling his hair.

"Why Christine," Christine placed the book down. "Ma chérie, what do you think you're doing? Reading Erik's book like that?" It was _La Belle et la Bête_ , of course.

"Oh, Pére! Do explain to me what it's all about though!" She whined,

"No, Christine."

"But pére…"

"Christine…"

"Please…?"

Erik couldn't take it anymore. He bolted to his room.

"Erik? Erik! Stop, wait! What's gone into you?" Louis followed after the retreating adolescent, while Gustave and Christine remained oblivious to their action.

"Very well then," Gustave sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose wearingly. "You know what the fairy tale is all about, non?"

Christine nodded.

"Basically, Beauty is saying how someone so good-natured can be ugly, is very pitiable."

"Pére, you're just rewording it!"

"He's ugly. She pities him because he is so kind but ugly."

"Like Erik?"

"Christine, why-!" His hand hovered inches above her cheek, her eyes wide in shock. Pulling his hand back, he hastily added, "Christine, don't you mention even _one word_ from the book. Erik doesn't like the book, he…" Gustave was at loss for words, suddenly remembering that Erik and Louis were within earshot. He looked back up, only to realize that the two were no longer there. Christine copied his motion. "See Christine, you've upset him," he scolded.

"Does it matter that I read his book?" She demanded from her father with the air of a teenager. "Pére, I don't pity Erik. I like him just the way he is. Really."

"Ma chérie, you sound just like Beauty. But you really mustn't mention _ugly_ and _pity_ in one sentence… Erik won't like that. Are you even listening to me?"

Christine was idly playing with her blond curls. "Yes, pére," she mumbled.

But she was getting sick of it. Her five-year-old mind wanted more than just her pére and Erik as company. Or blackberries. Or Oncle Louis.

She wanted a friend. Someone her age. And she wanted it now.

XXXX

It wasn't until the next day did Erik and Louis leave Erik's room. Erik had just stepped into the living room and was suddenly face-to-face with Christine, who was on her way to try to convince him out of his room. Erik's unmasked face was no longer happy and content as Christine remembered; rather, it had taken a stern, angered look that resembled a skull all too much. His eyes seemed aflamed, glowing with fierce intensity.

"Erik? What's wrong?" She timidly asked.

"Leave me be," he harshly replied.

Unused to Erik's sudden change in behaviour, Christine burst into tears.

"I don't want your tears or pity," he harshly added, before swiftly turning about on his heel and storming back into his room, leaving behind the broken Christine, who had collapsed onto the floor and was crying her heart out, and Louis, who was just as bewildered at Erik's sudden change in attitude. Quickly, he picked up and comforted Christine.

"There, there Christine. All will be fine. Where is your pére?" He tried to comfort the crying child as angry violin notes echoed down the hall.

"P-pére…?" Christine coughed shakily. "P-p-pére…"

"What do you want me for?" Gustave's head popped out from the corner of the kitchen. "I was preparing breakfast" he noticed his crying daughter and became immediately concerned. "What happened, Christine? Why do you cry like so?"

"Erik has acted rather odd," Louis answered for her. "He sounded rather agitated at her. He seems to be bearing a grudge against her for what she said yesterday." He led Christine to Gustave.

"I'll talk to-"

"No, I will. He will talk to me."

"What makes you think so?" Although Gustave wanted to give Erik a round of scolding himself, he was curious to find out why Louis thinks Erik would listen to _him_ , an unrelated personal, over the person who had raised Erik for nearly six years. "Why did he not listen to you last evening then?"

"I didn't talk him out yesterday," Louis scoffed. "And that was while he was crying his heart out. He listens to me whenever he isn't dreary. Erik always listens to my words, no matter what I discuss with him."

"Go ahead then. Give him a round of scolding for me while you're at it." Seeing Louis turn to Erik's room, Gustave turned to Christine. "See what I mean? Erik got upset because of you." He realized that now wasn't the time to correct Christine's wild, outgoing nature, and turned back to comforting her.

 _I'll tell her later._

XXXX

"Explain yourself, Erik!"

Louis was surprised to find Erik's door unlocked. He saw the boy hunched over a desk; quickly, he crossed over to the desk and shook the boy up.

Erik looked up, dazed and confused. His amber eyes no longer resembled a blazing flame, but that of warm honey as before.

"Oncle…? Why are you shaking me like that?" He timidly asked, surprised by how rough he was being handled. Looking around the room, Erik was shocked to find himself back in his room. "Oncle, why am I back in my room?"

"Do you not know what you have done?" Louis stopped shaking the boy.

"N… No, Oncle Louis. I really don't. Oncle Louis, why am I in my room? Weren't we heading to the dining room earlier…?" A hint of desperation could be heard in his voice. "Did I… Did Erik do something wrong?"

Louis was appalled. Did Erik truly not remember all the events that transpired a few short minutes ago? "You verbally attacked Christine," he said slowly. "She's crying her heart out right now."

"Erik… I did that?" He made a repulsed look upon his face, reflecting his own self-disgust. "No… It cannot be… Have I truly become a monster…? Why…" He launched himself into Louis's open arms, burying his head into the crisp Sûreté uniform, trembling but not releasing any tears.

"There, there," Louis patted the younger boy's back awkwardly. It was odd, comforting the boy who was now the same height as Louis's 6 feet 6 inches. "It is going to be fine. You just have to go and apologize to Christine." _I think._

Had any other person walked into the room and disregarded Erik's face, they would have assumed that the two were siblings. Oddly enough, Gustave thought so too when he walked in to check on them an hour later.

"Louis, you should be getting back to Paris now," he told his friend and boss sternly. "You are already hours behind schedule and-"

"Can't you just give me a break? I would like to spend my time with Erik in peace, thank you very much," he hissed in response.

"Ah, Oncle." Erik turned around to face Gustave, Louis's arm still around his shoulder. "Where is Christine…? I must apologize to her…"

Christine's blond head popped out from behind Gustave, her mouth in a wide grin. "Erik, of course I forgive you!" She abruptly launched herself onto him, catching him off guard. "I… I won't say those words again."

Little did she know that she would say those words to his face one day.

XXXX

 _4 July 1869_

"You what?"

Erik couldn't help but crack another grin behind his mask.

"I said," Philippe was getting annoyed. This was perhaps the third time he told Erik. "I said that grandpére and grandmére are sending Raoul and I off to a naval academy when we return back to our parents. We're only stopping here for a few days."

"That… That's hilarious!" Erik slapped Philippe's back enthusiastically in mocking, causing the Vicomte to jump up in surprise. "Can't wait to see you, Philly, in your uniform one day!"

" _Philly_? Really?" Philippe's eyes narrowed, focusing on the yellow orbs behind the black mask. "Out of all the nicknames you could have called me, you had to come up with _Philly_?"

Erik shrugged. "I don't see the problem. This isn't ancient history, you know."

"Well, how about I call you something else as well?"

"And what would it be?"

" _Génie_. How does that sound?"

"Why would you want to call me _that_? I do not grant wishes," he scoffed. "And you are not Aladdin. Really though, my name is short enough. Now you've gone off and given yourself a mouthful to say."

"What is Aladdin?" He curiously asked.

Erik felt like slapping the Vicomte in frustration. "You've never heard of it? _Aladdin and the Magic Lamp_ , translated by Antoine Galland in 1710?"

Philippe grinned sheepishly. "I didn't know about that. But I was referring to your genius intellect, not a wishmaker."

"Hmm…" Erik stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I don't see the problem, Philly. As long as I can continue calling you Philly."

"That's a deal then, Génie." Although Philippe didn't know, they were both grinning as the gloved hand shook his own.

"Can I call you Frankenstein then?" Raoul's voice materialized out of nowhere, causing Philippe and Erik to part in alarm.

"Shush, Raoul, they heard us!"

"What do I care, Christine? In fact, I would like to face the freak right now."

"RAOUL!"

A dull slap could be heard coming from behind the sofa as the two rose, Raoul rubbing his cheek in pain as Christine shot him an angry glare.

"I thought you were better than that, Raoul!"

"Why, little brother, why… Why were you eavesdropping on our conversation?"

"Never mind that, Philippe. Where is the freak? Come out, Frankenstein!" He hollered, unaware that Erik was now lurking behind him.

"You called, little Vicomte?" He hissed. His voice was of a different tone compared to just moments ago, causing Philippe to step back in alarm and Raoul to rapidly turn around on his heel.

Christine knew the voice all too well; it was the first time she heard it since the accident.

"You know, you fool, you are not welcome here." His voice was low, deadly, filled with venom and hate.

And Raoul made the mistake to lock his vision directly into the blazing yellow eyes and reply back just as nastily, "well, I am here, so what are you going to do about it, you monster?"

Before Raoul could say another word, a dull, thudding crack sounded through the room, followed quickly by a gasp of pain and Christine's scream as Raoul collapsed onto the floor.

"... I can do that." Erik's cold voice spoke to no one in particular now, as he slipped into the dark hallway, towards his room.

Only when Erik had left did Philippe dare rush to his brother. Cradling his brother's head on his lap, he frantically cried, "my goodness, Raoul, are you okay? Speak to me!"

"I… I've felt better…" He groaned. Erik had whacked his shoulder blade with a metal stick, and he was pretty sure that it had fractured. He feebly looked around the room. "That monster… He needs to be locked up. Now."

Philippe abruptly let go of his brother's head. "And I think not. You provoked him. Come on Christine." Getting up, he took the shocked Christine's hand and walked to Erik's room, leaving Raoul where he fell.

"Hey, Philippe! Help me up already!"

"Do it yourself, your legs aren't fractured!" He yelled out in response. Muttering under his breath, he entered Erik's room which, oddly enough, was wide open. Erik was blankly staring out of the window, eyes glazed. The metal walking stick was clutched tightly in his left hand.

"Génie, are you okay?"

"Hey, Erik?" She shook him worriedly. "Please get up Erik."

"... Huh? What?" Erik neck snapped quickly towards Christine's voice. "Christine? Philippe? What are you do- what am I doing in my room? I thought I was in the living room…"

"You don't remember, Erik?" Erik shook his head. "You hit my brother with your walking stick. I think you broke his shoulder blade or something."

"I… I did?" He felt as if he were plunging into a nightmare. "No… It can't be… That's not what… No… Cannot be…" He clutched his head and screamed in agony.

"Erik, calm down!" Christine and Philippe each grabbed one of his hands, frantically trying to calm him down. "Please, Erik, don't hurt yourself again!"

"Erik, stop this! You mustn't act like this! Who knows what my grandpére-" he stopped mid-sentence, seeing his grandpére, grandmére, and Raoul standing in the doorway.

"We're leaving, Philippe," the Baron harshly demanded, his hand forcefully tugging against the Vicomte's.

"But… But why grandpére?!" He quickly glanced towards his brother, noticing the smug (yet pained) look upon his face. Resisting his grandpére's attempt, he added, "it's because of Raoul, is it not?"

"What do you think? Come on, we leave _now._ " With one final tug, the Baron succeeded in dragging Philippe away. With a final, scathing look at Erik, he told the startled boy, "and you'd better not act up again. I'm warning you. Step out of line just one more time in public and you will regret it. I shall be informing the gendarmerie about this incident. Consider yourself warned."

Satisfied with his threat, the Baron departed the cottage, the rest of his family following, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

Erik didn't know what to do. All of the sudden, he was left with just Christine in his room. "That… That escalated quickly, didn't it, little Lotte?" He asked her gloomily. "Even the Baron hates me…"

"You did attack the little Vicomte though. His own flesh and blood, Erik." Gustave finally emerged from the hallway, shaking his head towards Erik in disappointment. "So that was your intention on buying a metal walking stick, right? To hurt others?"

Erik mutely nodded in response.

"Really now. The Baron le Pontmercy has already cut all previous ties with us, thanks to your brash actions." He rubbed the bridge of his nose warily. "Erik, you have painted a target on your back. Now everyone knows to beware of the so called Erik Mulheim. There is no telling if the Baron, a man of power and wealth, will disclose any additional information about you."

"Pére, please, Erik already had a rough day. Raoul already insulted Erik very badly, don't make Erik more angry…" Christine murmured to her father, noticing how Erik was painfully gripping her arm.

"He what?"

"Raoul called Erik mean names. He called Erik a monster, pére. It was horrible, Pwiwipe and Erik were just talking about different names, and Raoul had to jump in and say…" She couldn't say it, not in front of Erik.

"Well, this is different, quite the contrast the little rascal told his grandparents and I. That makes much more sense now." He scratched his stubble of a beard thoughtfully. "No wonder he thought Erik was beyond hopes. This…"

"What can you do about it, Oncle? You're not part of the Sûreté anymore, and the gendarmerie hold far greater power than them. Now everywhere I go they will know… I can only run and hide…" Erik cut in brokenly.

Gustave sighed and gathered his protégées in his wide arms, embracing them tightly. "For all I care, the whole world can hate us, as long as we have each other."

XXXX

 _6 July 1869_

 _Paris, France_

Two figures stood in front of the Sûreté notice board, one rather gleeful, the other rather solemn. "Did you see the sign?" One asked with great joy. "Our long wait is finally over! That freak will soon be in our hands again!"

"... Unchi, please do not go ahead with your plan," the other quietly begged. "Just because we have found him, but do we really need him? Please Unchi, please reconsider…"

"You're just like your mother. Stan, I've told you once already and I'll tell you again. _It_ is our property, and has been so since that woman sold _it_ to us."

"But Unchi, he is… WAS only a child. You didn't have to treat him like that in the past, especially that… _disgusting_ … Thing you did that night you lost him."

"Stan, _it_ is not human, stop considering it as so!"

The two finally turned away from the notice board, the new notice in the man called Stan's crumbled hand. It read:

 _Citizens of Paris, beware of Erik Mulheim and Gustave Daaé!_

 _Rumor is that 'Erik' is a deformed, deranged psychopath who will soon be returning to Paris! Gustave Daaé, 47, former Sûreté officer, is reportedly the madman's friend and accomplice. We advise all citizens to remain alert for any changes in your area for any signs of a masked man or the former officer._

"You have to admit though," Stan growled, "that even if he were not a human, he still had a life. _He_ had feelings, _he_ was still a child in any way. Even 'creatures' have their own children. And for the final record Unchi, _he_ is a man in every right."

"Nonsense," his uncle brushed away the other's words effortlessly. "Human or not, _it_ is our property, and I personally want revenge against that officer." He licked his lips, imagining the many ways he could finally take what was his, and give that officer what he owed.

The two made their way into a gypsy camp. "You're back!" A young woman greeted the two. She was about eighteen, pale skin and luscious dark hair. "Domnule Danior, Stan!"

"Stela!" Stan momentarily forgot his worry upon seeing the love of his life. He broke out into a jog, both hands now clutching hers. "Are you doing alright, Stela?"

Stela blushed at how close they were. Brushing off his dark bangs from his forehead, she smiled and replied, "I've been waiting for you to return. But how was your mission with your unchi?"

"Not well," he whispered. He glanced at the figure of his uncle, who was retreating to his caravan. "We finally found a lead to that boy, and he is dead-set in getting him back."

"Something is wrong with your unchi. He refuses to leave Paris until the boy is back in the cage. He blames our financial loss on him, yet it is because of his stubbornness that we have not had a single new visitor." She paused, reflecting on all the people who were tired of seeing the same show and attraction over and over. "This boy… He's even younger than us, right?"

Stan nodded in response. "But what can we do to prevent my unchi from getting him back?"

"I don't know, Stan. I don't know."

XXXX

 _Meanwhile, in the Pontemercy Chateau…_

"Oh no," the Baron's hands shook as he read the notice delivered to his house. "This is not what I meant… I did not..!"

In his own room, Raoul snickered. _Grandpére will never know who did it._

 _Freak, I've got you cornered. You're running out of time._

 _I'll be laughing with joy when your head falls._

XXXX

 _And also, back in Cherbourg..._

"Erik, Christine, I've decided that we should return to Paris."

* * *

First off, I would like to apologize to the time it takes to update. School is finally over for the year, but I have been caught up doing other activities, including learning Spanish and Chemistry, doing summer reading, and volunteering at my local library everyday. Also, my school laptop was taken away, so most of this is typed on an iPad (which is really hard to type with). _Lo siento._

Also, I finally managed to obtain a copy of _Sherlock Holmes Meets the Phantom of the Opera!_ Can't wait to start reading it!

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters."

Thanks to MomoxDerpy for helping me proofread! Be sure to check out her fanfic!

Reviews and comments are highly appreciated.


	21. Ch 20: Back at Square One

**Chapter 20: Back at Square One**

 _6 July 1869_

"Paris?" Christine looked at her father, confused. "Pére, we live in this cottage. Why would we go to the city?"

"Little Lotte, I don't think you should question your pére right now." Erik made eye contact with Gustave, who nodded slightly. Upon hearing a knock at the front door, he took her hand and added, "why don't we go see Oncle Louis, little Lotte?"

"But Erik, what does Pére mean? Won't you tell me?"

"Christine, it is not my tale to tell. Let your Pére tell you… When he is ready."

Satisfied with his answer, Christine followed Erik's lead, leaving Gustave behind in the living room. Erik opened the door, and Louis entered the cottage, his uniform still as crisp as ever. "Oncle Louis! You're here!" Erik grinned at the officer while Christine looked at Louis warily.

"Erik, ma'boy, it has only been a week. Really now." Although he wouldn't admit it to the boy, he was always thrilled to have yet another chance to see him again. Noticing Christine's glum look upon her rosy face, he knelt down in front of her and asked softly, "and what about you, Christine? Why are you so saddened?"

Christine released a small huff. "Oncle Louis, Pére wants us to move to Paris."

"I see. So he has finally moved on," he murmured. Getting back up, he told the girl kindly, "really now? Are you not excited to move?"

"That's the problem, Oncle Louis! I don't want to leave this cottage! I want to see it all the city has, but I don't want to _live_ there!" She stamped her foot in anger.

"Now now, little Lotte," Erik scolded sternly. "That is not how a little girl should behave."

She forced her hand off of Erik's. "Erik, you always behave like this! Don't tell me what to do, Erik! I will not do what little girls do! No, I won't!" She cast one final hurtful glance at Erik and Louis, then broke out in a run back to her room.

"Christine! Christ-" Erik began to sprint after her, only to be stopped by Louis's firm hand on his own hand.

"Stop, Erik."

"What do you mean, stop?" Erik turned around to face Louis, his amber eyes staring directly into the latter's emerald-turning-amber.

"I meant what I said. Let Christine go."

This was what Gustave saw as he walked into the hallway. It seemed rather odd, Erik looking like a twisted reflection of Louis's. "What's up with all the commotion?"

Both officer and teen turned and shot daggers at Gustave for interrupting their conversation. "Just leave, Gustave. You're not helping."

"Christine is in her bedroom."

Casting one final look at Louis and Erik, Gustave followed his daughter's path back to her room, fading into the shadows of the hallway.

With the coast finally clear, they both turned to face each other once again.

"And what do you mean to tell me, _Monsieur_?" Erik sn

* * *

eered as his eyes became ablaze once more. His face now bore an uncanny resemblance to an inflamed skull.

Louis refused to back down. With equal hostility, he fired back, "well, _little_ Erik, I told you to leave her alone! She is quite clearly emotionally fragile right now!"

"Oh really? Do pray tell me what _you_ thi-" Louis stumbled back surprisingly as the fire in Erik's eyes suddenly died out, and the boy toppled down in front of Louis.

Suddenly concerned for his pupil, Louis too dropped down and pulled Erik back up. Seeing that the boy was unconscious, he took the opportunity to carry him back to the living room. Despite everything that just happened between them, he refused to hold onto the past. Sitting down, Louis laid Erik down along the length of the couch, setting the boy's head on his lap. Louis looked at Erik's face silently, noting that it looked pained as the lips let out a soft moan.

"No… Erik won't do it again… No… Don't hurt Erik… Stay away…" The boy shifted his head slightly. "No… Was not… Him? No… Erik didn't mean to… No… Christine…! Oncle Louis!" He cried the names out loud, startling Louis. He looked upon the boy's pale face worriedly and gently stroked the sunken cheeks.

"Ma'boy… I wonder what exactly are you thinking of…"

XXXX

At around the same time, Gustave found Christine sprawled upon her bed, staring at the door blankly. He sat down next to her and softly said, "ma chérie, what bothers your mind so?"

Christine faced her father, voice laced with hurt. "why do we have to leave this cottage, Pére? I don't understand." Tears were beginning to form on her eyelashes. "Why are we even here, Pére?"

He exhaled and pulled his daughter close. "Ma chérie, you will probably not understand the reason why I moved. But let me tell you this: I was so hurt when your Mère died that I could not do anything. So your Oncle Louis suggested that I move away for some time."

"But why not stay here forever, Pére? Why do we have to return?"

"Because I did not plan on staying here for long. I had planned to return in a year or so after your Mère died, but…" His grey eyes became rather distant, remembering Hannah's warm blue eyes. He could feel his heart being crushed from inside, just thinking of her. But then he looked down at Christine, with her identical blue eyes, and the feeling of defeat gave way for peace and contentment.

"But what, Pére?"

"You, ma chérie, you were all too insistent on staying here that I didn't want to leave. But I must return. I need to go back to work, make the money to support us. You understand this, don't you?"

Christine nodded. "Oui, Pére… But why don't we stay here? Why do we have to go to Paris and not Cherbourg?"

Gustave got up from the bed and faced Christine. His hunched figure shadowed her body from the sunlight streaming from her window. "I have a job and friends in Paris, Christine." He offered his hand, which she accepted, and pulled her up. "It is going to be alright, ma chérie. You will like Paris. Not much will change." He caught her into an embrace.

"I hope, Pére."

They remained embraced silently for minutes, both unsure of what action to do next. Gustave was the first to break the silence.

"Christine, what exactly did you do to Oncle Louis and Erik?"

Christine pulled away from Gustave, her small face in a scowl. "Erik said I should behave like a proper lady. Because I was angry. And then I yelled back at him. I don't know what Erik and Oncle Louis said after that, Pére."

"You yelled at Erik?" Gustave's eyebrows arched upwards in surprise. _My God. My daughter has quite a sturdy spine, to talk back to an intimidating figure._

"O-oui, Pére." She shuffled her feet slightly. "I… I guess Erik was right. I don't know why a girl cannot do things a guy can though."

"You should apologize to Erik, Christine."

"I know, I know, I should!" She stomped her feet in frustration. "But how, Pére? I am scared to talk to Erik, sometimes his eyes will become fire and he will start saying weird words with a mean voice. Pére, I don't want to…"

"He has?"

Tears were now falling from her eyes. "Oui, Pére. It first started when I read _La Belle et la Bête_. Pére, he was so angry then! Then it happened again with Raoul, and just yesterday when I said the mask of his was ugly."

"Christine! I told you never to say _ugly_ in front of him, about him!"

"Oui, I know Pére. It was an axswedent…"

"An accident? Christine, please, _please_ don't do it again. You have already seen his scars by now, no doubt. Don't remind him of the past."

"I… I'll try, Pére." She sniffed.

"Alright. Now, let's go apologize to Erik." He started to get up.

"Oh, but Pére! Wait!" She pulled on his arm, bringing him back down to her eye level. "Pére, but are Erik and Oncle Louis still arguing? Should we wait?"

"No. We stop their conflict now." Rising back up to his full height and Christine's hand in his, they walked back out into the hallway entrance. Seeing no one, Gustave and Christine went to the living room, where they found Louis gently stroking Erik's mangled face.

"You're back, huh." Louis said without glancing at Gustave, still lost in thought.

Gustave did not answer; he instead approached the two, finding Erik unconscious.

"He collapsed midway during our argument. He's was mumbling things until I stroked his face."

"What exactly were you two arguing about?"

Louis shrugged. "It was pointless really. I wanted him to leave Christine alone, and he insisted otherwise." He stopped moving his hand on Erik's cheek, causing Erik's face to crease in pain.

"No… Don't go… He's back… Erik's back…" His body involuntarily began to shiver and curl up.

"Pére? What's wrong with Erik?" She asked worriedly, leaning against her father's strong leg.

Gustave remained silent. What he wanted to say was not appropriate for her young ears.

Alarmed, Louis resumed stroking Erik's face. The face gradually resumed the relaxed pose as the mumblings ceased.

"Have you made your mind up yet, Gustave? What day do you plan on returning to Paris?"

"I suppose by next week. It will give us enough time to pack our bags."

"Alright then. Although I must warn you that you will not be able to resume your Súreté duties just yet when you return. I was forced to hire a replacement officer when you left, and he shows no signs of wanting to retire. There are no positions left in the office for you."

"Ah… Why did you not notify me of this beforehand? I would have informed you to request only a temporary officer to take my place."

Louis snorted. "What has happened to your brain? Has it been out in this sun for too long? Surely you know that a Súreté officer can only be off-duty for so long before he is discharged. And you, you have not been on duty for five years now! What on Earth are you thinking?"

"I must admit that I had not thought of that," he admitted quietly. "My God, am I to start all over?" He paused, lost in thought, for some time. "What about an Opera house? Do you know any available jobs from one?"

"Ask Antoinette," Louis snorted. "What do I look like, a ballet dancer? Why would you ask _me_ , a member of the Súreté, on the goings of the Opéra-Comique?"

Gustave threw his hands up in frustration. "I don't know, Louis! You being the man currently behind the construction of the Palais Garnier, for starters."

"Hm… Good point," Louis replied thoughtfully, using his other hand to scratch his chin. "I'm afraid I know no more than the average Parisian citizen about the actual comings and goings of Opera though. I merely overlook the construction of the magnificent building. But hey," he added enthusiastically, "you could help with the construction of the Palais!"

"N-no thanks, I'd rather not."

"Opera? What's opera?" The little girl quietly mumbled, still clutching onto her father's leg.

Gustave looked down at his daughter and smiled warmly. "Why, ma chérie, its a show with actors and singers. It tells stories for an audience to watch and hear."

Hardly anyone noticed when Erik lifted his right eyelid weakly, taking in his new surroundings.

"Singing? Acting? I may want to do that…"

"Only in Paris, Christine. So, what do you think, do you want to go to Paris now?"

"Louis! You know she doesn't have to be onstage to do those activities!"

"I'm fully aware, Gustave. But I think that is what Christine wants, right?" He looked at Christine expectantly, and she eagerly nodded.

"I would love to act on stage! Maybe I can be a… A… Um…" Her smile faltered. "Pére? What are the main singers called?"

Gustave chuckled. "A prima donna, ma chérie."

"Right." She puffed her chest out proudly. "I want to be a preema donna one day!"

"Then… Maybe… You should… Start… With the… Basics…" Erik slowly rose from his position, his face showing pure confusion. "Where… What am I doing… Here…?" His sunken eyes widened upon seeing Louis peering down at him worriedly. He hastily got up and mumbled apologies to the older man.

"What baswicks, Erik? What is a baswick?"

"It's _basic_ , ma chérie, its the first step to doing something great."

"Oh." She hesitated slightly, unclear on how to say her next words. "But pére… Who will… Tweach me to… Do the baswicks?"

"I will."

All eyes turned to Erik, now fully up and eyeing Christine seriously.

"I think, given the purity of her voice now, that she will sound quite heavenly given the proper training and technique." He glanced at Gustave, who was mouthing him some unknown action. "No, wait actually. I think the Angel of Music will be the one to teach her. He or she will be the one to make her voice soar." Gustave grinned, giving him a thumbs above Christine's head.

Feeling satisfied with his work, Erik shifted his attention to Louis, who was still giving him a worried glance. "Is something the matter, Oncle Louis?"

Louis got up. "Can you come with me for a moment or two? Alone?" Erik nervously looked at Gustave and Christine, who were still standing in their original positions, before rising up and following Louis's retreating figure into the hallway.

"Is… Is something the matter, Oncle Louis?" Erik received no response until they were locked inside Erik's own room.

"Oncle… What is the meaning of this?"

"Erik," he sternly demanded. "Do you remember what happened before waking up?"

"Now that you mention it Oncle Louis… No, I don't." His eyes began to widen in fear and realization. "Did I… Did I do something wrong? I can't… I can't remember a thing…!" He paused for a moment, recalling other blank periods to his memory. "Oncle Louis, I can't remember so many times…!"

"You can't? You don't recall ever fighting with me at all?"

"I… I fought with you?" There was a distinct hollowness to his voice. "What… What… What did I say…? No… Don't tell me…" Feeling himself lose balance, he grasped for the chair by his bed. Instead, he missed and caught Louis's uniform instead, and Erik sunk to his knees. "No… I…"

 _This is getting out of hand._

Erik was now desperately clutching onto the latter's uniform as if it were a lifeline. "Oncle Louis, please help me… I don't want this… I'll be good, I swear I will… Just don't cast me out…"

 _Very out of hand._ "Why would I ever cast you out, Erik?" He asked gently.

Erik froze. He wasn't sure why he said that himself. Sniffing, he answered back, his voice still watery, "I… I think my mère… Might have…" His eyes glowed once again. He released his hands from the uniform and got up, mumbling. "That mère of mine…" Erik began pacing up and down along the length of his room with his arms behind his back, not unlike Louis in his own rages. "Some mère I had… Erik should like to see her perish from a fire…"

Louis was alarmed. Erik had reentered his trance-like rage again. It was painfully obvious, quite similar… _Why, he's behaving like me whenever I get in my temper-fits. My god!_

"But first, Erik must…" The pacing stopped momentarily as the skull-face scrunched up in deep thought. "Ah yes, Erik must find her address. No worry though, with Hannah's diary…"

 _He is mentioning Hannah by her first name only?_

"And Erik would like to lay my own hands on that filth gypsy. Yes, the one who stripped Erik of his very dignity. It is time for Erik to get what Erik deserves…"

"Um… Erik?"

"Hmm?" Erik turned and looked straight at Louis's eyes. The emerald green met the blazing amber. "What, Officer Mifroid? What is it that you would like to discuss with Erik?"

"I-I… Uh…" Louis was at loss of what to say.

"Erik thought so," he sneered. Turning back and resuming his pace, he continued rambling about other things he had to do, which Louis ignored (as he was lost in his own thought).

 _What should I do to get him back to his senses? What did Gustave do whenever I was enraged that calmed me down?_

… _Erik himself._

"Erik, wouldn't you like to tell me what exactly are you rambling about?" He probed cautiously, in fear that his protegeé might do something violent.

He turned around and looked at Louis incredulously. "Why, _Officer_ Mifroid, I'm surprised that you would give two damns about what I have to-" Just like earlier in the day, Erik suddenly toppled over, the flame in his eyes burned out.

 _There. He has fallen back into his old self again._ Louis caught the falling form before it hit the ground, releasing a sigh at the fate of the boy. _Why, why does he have his own separate, violent side to him? Why must he be like me whenever I developed my rages in my early years?_

 _And why now does it reveal itself?_

XXXX

For the next four days, Louis took time off to help Gustave and Erik pack away their belongings as the day drew nearer to their return to Paris.

In all truth, Louis was only doing so to keep a watchful eye on Erik.

Each day Erik's second side became more powerful, more dominating, and lasting longer. Each day, Louis would try, in every way, to get the old Erik back into his senses. And each day, although tired and gaining a couple extra grey hairs upon his head, Louis succeeded in doing so.

And each time Erik regained control of his body, he would always be scared out of his mind, for, as always, he simply could not recall what the other side of him has done.

"Oncle Louis, please make this stop somehow! I don't want to live like this anymore!" He sobbed one time after returning to his senses.

Louis, still panting after fighting to embrace Erik and bring him back, shook his head and held him closer. "Non, ma'boy… I cannot do that… I am powerless to your situation… Only you can make it stop…"

Naturally, Gustave and Christine notice the bizarre change in Erik's behaviour as well, and Gustave once inquired Erik on what was going on with the boy.

"It is… It is nothing," Louis attempted to reassure him. "I… I had these spells myself whenever I became overwhelmingly angry. It is not of your concern."

Gustave merely shrugged it off and resumed packing away his belongings.

Louis also noted that, for whatever reason, Erik never entered his rage because of Christine, possibly as a result of the previous incident. If anything, he became excessively protective and concerned for her wellbeing. And Christine seemed to become increasingly aggravated at his obvious sign for apology.

"Erik, please stop this," she confronted him one day. "I'm a big girl now, and I don't need help all the time."

"You're only five," he replied miserably. "And your trunk must surely be heavy…"

"It is not!" She threw more of her dresses into her trunk in frustration. "Erik, I know I am only five. But that does not mean I can do some things myself!"

"Not in this world where men dominate over every matter…"

Christine slammed the lid of her trunk and turned around, her blond curls swinging madly at her action. "And Erik, you're not helping at all! You're just being one of those men!" Erik stepped back unconsciously as she turned around and attempted to push her trunk out of her room.

The trunk refused to budge.

"On second thought, I do need your help. Erik?"

Chuckling nervously, Erik proceeded to carry her trunk out to the carriage. "You are a walking bundle of contradictions, Little Lotte."

She smiled back as sweetly and as innocently as possible. "I know."

XXXX

 _13 July 1869_

"Is everyone completely certain that all of your belongings are indeed packed and ready to go?" Louis looked at his company back to Paris expectantly.

Erik nervously patted his violin case, which was on his lap along with his mask. "Oui, Oncle Louis. I don't think I'm missing anything right now." He looked across the carriage at Christine, who was holding onto her father's hand. "What about you, little Lotte? Have you left anything behind?"

Her smooth face wrinkled into a scowl. "For the last time Erik, I am sure. I think." She suddenly blushed violently. "On second thought, I might have forgotten…"

"Your scarf?" Erik pulled the rose-red scarf from behind his back.

"My scarf!" Christine reached out to grab her scarf, only for Erik to pull away and hold it high in the air, away from her grasp. "Aw, Erik, please!" She shook her father's hand abruptly. "Pérel please tell Erik to give it back!"

Gustave continued reading the Bible, frowning in concentration. "Don't bother me Christine, I am still on page twenty."

Giving up on her father, Christine turned to Louis. "Oncle Louis, won't you please tell Erik to give me my scarf back? Or get it yourself?"

Louis chuckled in amusement. _This is going to turn out to be quite interesting._ "Sorry, Christine. I cannot do that. You will have to convince Erik yourself."

Sighing in defeat, she turned back to Erik. "Please, Erik?"

He whispered in response, "Blessed is the girl, who uses her youth to walk along new paths. Blessed is she who follows her heart and doesn't ask other men. Because only then, when she is awake, will none of her dreams be denied…"

"Erik? What are you saying?"

In response, he smiled slightly. "Someone young and interested like you, doesn't need to ask a man to give her orders…"

"Oncle Louis, do you know what Erik is saying?"

Louis only smiled in response, like Erik.

Had Gustave looked up at this exact moment, he would have seen the uncanny resemblance between the two.

Instead, he flipped to the next page.

"Erik, I give up! I don't know what you are saying, but just give me my scarf back!"

Still smiling, Erik lowered his raised hand and offered her the scarf.

"Thanks," she snagged the scarf as quickly as a flyswatter before Erik could have the chance to take it back. Not like he was planning to do so anyway.

"On a much more serious note, little Lotte, what exactly do you want to be when you grow up?" His smile faded and his face took a more serious tone.

Still clutching the scarf close to her body, she answered back, "I'm not sure, Erik." She paused, deep in thought. "I want to do something though. Something that will change the world. Why do you ask, Erik?"

"No reason. No reason at all…"

He left Christine and Louis still wondering on his words as the carriage made its way to the heart of France.

XXXX

 _Outskirts of Paris, the same day._

Danior couldn't be happier when he heard the news. "That officer and the freak will be back by tomorrow? Thank you, Cornel." The scout bowed before walking away.

"Unchi, please reconsider this, we don't need him. We need to see new sights," Stan all but begged his uncle.

"Nonsense, we will be getting _it_ back as soon as possible, and the money will be spinning in piles very soon," Danior scoffed in response.

"But Unchi-"

"Or would you rather me kidnap a pretty prostitute from off the street and personally maim her? I know this whore named Blanche who will do-"

"I would rather you do none of the above," Stan cut in quietly. "I would rather we leave for Italy first thing tomorrow morning and forget about the boy and all of Paris. Leave it all behind."

"Hmph. You still expect me to give up on my pursuit of the boy after all this time? You have some nerve, boy."

"Unchi," he growled. "I do. We are nearly dead because of your damn stubbornness to leave-"

Danior slapped his nephew across the cheek before the latter could finish. "Don't you dare talk to me like that! Unless you want to replace the freak yourself." He grinned maliciously. "How would you like to be where it was?"

Still rubbing his cheek, Stan shook his head frantically in denial.

Danior was satisfied. "Good. I wish for you to stop discussing this with me now. I expect no more of this talk. If you try to dissuade me again," he paused, making note of how his nephew flinched in the silence. "I will not hesitate to maim you and put you on display myself."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Stan mustered up all of his courage to challenge his uncle.

"You know very well what I am capable of."

* * *

I am not a Christian, and as such I will not go into too much detail on Gustave's and Christine's religious life. Just know they are deeply religious people.

Who gets my Romanian name references? :o

 _Vor dem Schloß_ from _Tanz der Vampire_ is used during Erik's monologue in the carriage.

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

Thanks to MomoxDerpy for helping me proofread! Be sure to check out her fanfic!

Reviews and comments are highly appreciated.


	22. Ch 21: Catching Up

**Chapter 21: Catching Up**

Time was but a blur for the Daaes (and Erik.) One moment, they were in the carriage heading back to Paris, and the next, it was the day before Christmas Eve.

Of course, it took a while- to be exact, three weeks- for Christine to settle down to her new lifestyle. Meg had taken an instant liking of her, while the latter rejected the advances. It wasn't until Madame Giry had to 'babysit' the girls (for Gustave had finally reclaimed his job as lead violinist) did Christine finally open up to the Girys.

To be more exact, Christine was immersed in the Girys' art, not the Girys themselves. The art of ballet.

The amazement of watching Meg dance with the other young, training dancers! Christine was immersed in the art, how they danced almost perfectly to the music-at least, for younger dancers. Before long, Christine wanted to practice ballet herself.

Gustave, understandably, consented to the idea after a long debate. _After all_ , he thought, _it would not take long for Christine to raise her status from a ballet dancer to a singing diva, would it? It was much too soon for her to begin singing- what roles are available anyway for a girl so young?_

True to Madame Giry's word, he got the part as lead violinist at the Opera House quite easily. Some of his former colleagues still maintained their status in the orchestra and were more than willing to catch up with him. _Everyday is just like the other._ Smiling slightly at the thought of having his young daughter being a ballerina, he tuned his violin in preparation for the next rehearsal.

xxx

Erik, on the other hand, distanced himself from the arts of theatre and entertainment completely. It was as though a new side of him had emerged since he arrived in Paris. Still in his beak-mask, he took to 'haunting' the construction site of the Palais Garnier, creating small mishaps merely for his entertainment, to Louis's annoyance. Nothing too serious and life-threatening to the construction workers, of course, but enough to cause concerns about a ghost.

It soon became apparent to the Daaes however that something was off about Erik. No longer did Erik remove his mask in private; he refrained from showing his face, and even began ignoring Christine. At least, for most of the time.

"Erik? Won't you teach me today?"

Christine's reply was met with silence. With his back turned away from her, she could not tell that he was silently weeping as she sadly left him in peace, closing the door behind her.

"I wish I could, little Lotte," he whispered as the door shut behind him. "You'll… you'll understand in time."

He could feel something emerging from within him, something that confused and frightened him. Something that sought to terrorize, to create mischief, to hurt others. Something was finally finding its way through his mind. The lapses of consciousness were getting shorter and shorter.

 _I must not influence Christine. I will barricade myself against her if I must. Yes, I must…_

xxx

The Palais Garnier was being built where the gypsies had been.

Of course, Louis did not know this. All he knew was that Erik did not want to oversee the construction of the opera house on the first day, and only with Louis's heavy persuasion did Erik finally relent. It happened too quickly. One moment, Louis was clutching to Erik's hand like a father would to his child, and the next, he was grasping air. Erik had vanished without much of a trace. And so was the case every time Louis and Erik went to the Palais Garnier.

Louis knew that Erik was at the site though. Mishaps becoming more common simply does not happen overnight. And the near-silent rustle, only detectable by a well-trained ear, that accompanied each mishap was a tell-tale sign that, never fear, Erik was there.

xxx

"Do you think Christine will like this?" Erik asked anxiously, another delicate red scarf in his thin, long fingers. "I fear that this will remind her of her old one so much." The scarf he had bought her for her birthday was gone, having been carelessly misplaced sometime between her birthday and today. "But then again, that would make it all the more special."

Louis laughed. "Yes, she will love it very much. I don't see why she would be heartbroken about it." His eyes darted to the other shoppers on the street, many who were casting shady looks at Erik. When he met their eyes however, their eyes quickly wandered off. He leaned over to Erik's ear. "But when will you start speaking to her again, Erik?" he whispered. "It has been such a long time, what Gustave has told me. In fact, you hardly interact with either of them anymore, other than share a roof. It is most peculiar for you."

Erik shook his head. "No matter. It matters not on what I choose to do and not to do, Oncle. Leave me be, I ask you. Now," his eyes were positively glowing gold. "Didn't you say you wanted to buy some fine, century-old wine for tomorrow? I have heard from those construction workers that Monsieur Perry is selling them awfully cheap this season."

Louis ruffled Erik's hair playfully. "Silly boy! How did you ever read my mind?"

xxx

"Are all the plans laid out?"

"Yes, Danior. We have observed their household. The freak still lives with that man who had kidnapped it from us years before, as well as a little girl. That officer and it has also bought nearly a cartonful of rich wine." Joci licked his lips almost playfully. "What should we do with the girl? Keep her with him and present them to the public as the angel and the devil? That has a nice ring to it."

Stan slapped the young man on the back of the head. "Stop it with your sick thoughts! She is only a girl!"

Danior rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, yes that sounds nice. The angel and the devil, performing together…"

Stan's eyes widened in horror. "Unchi, you are not seriously considering this, are you? You would harm not just one, but two innocent lives for your gain?"

"Shut it, boy. Don't forget, as long as he's not around, you don't get any gains either. Joci!" Joci raised his head. "Continue following that officer and freak around. Tell me when the trap is set!"

Joci nodded and left the caravan. Danior resumed pacing back and forth, with Stan nervously watching him.

"Yes, yes," Danior murmured. "The stage is set. The final threshold, it is within my reach! My reach!" he barked out a laugh that made the hairs on Stan's back stand up.

"And with that," Stan breathed silently, "we have crossed the point of no return."

xxx

Joci was not the only one stalking the young boy of fifteen. Not too far away, also following Erik's every move, was a man of middle-eastern descent. Fortunately for this man, Joci was never able to spot him. However, the young boy did on numerous occasions.

 _I am going to have to be more careful_ , he thought. _That child is much more sharper than I thought._

 _Gosh, do I have much to report to the Shah!_

And so, the house of delicate cards were set up.

All it took was one day, one mistake to cause it to tumble.

Which is precisely what happened on Christmas Eve.

* * *

I am SO sorry for not updating in so long! But it is hard to juggle high school life, writing the mandatory college essay(s!), and coming up with new ideas and then discarding them half-baked.

If you have not noticed, I have also pulled "Star Sky" for this very same reason.

I don't own any characters or songs, save for my original characters.

Reviews and comments are highly appreciated.


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